


Between Bethel and Babylon

by DDElliott



Category: Historical RPF, Mystery - Fandom, Real Person Fiction, Religious RPF
Genre: Gen, Historical References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:48:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23974774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DDElliott/pseuds/DDElliott
Summary: A historically accurate collection of people and information all tied together to create a fantastic story of possibility.





	Between Bethel and Babylon

“Between Bethel and Babylon”

“Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain”… The WIZARD of OZ: Motion picture MGM Studios 1939. 

“…It was those nine words that kept echoing in my mind as I ambled down that lonely hallway and out into the cold hollow of that brisk October night. Noticing the moon high above the trees, I made note of the eerie glow among the thin cloudy veil that draped across the indigo and ebony sky. I made my way among the thick carpet of wet leaves and unlocked my driver side door and tossed the book I had been carrying onto the front passenger seat, before climbing in and starting the engine. The old man, John Lester Payne, had been a long time client of my accounting firm and had asked for me personally to visit him. We spoke of his financial portfolio for a few minutes before he gave me an old black book. Minutes later he spoke those words just before he passed away. I adjusted the dials and switches on the dash board to heat and defrosted the windshield but didn’t put the transmission in gear. Instead, I turned to the novel lying next to me and picked it up. Leafing through the pages I noticed that several passages on multiple pages had been underlined in red ink. I recognized the handwriting in the narrow margins of each page. It was definitely John’s. His crisp lettering and nominally sized letters stood out as his style immediately. Anyone familiar with drafting or mechanical engineering would instantly notice the similarities. Even though John hadn’t pursued a career in it, he had taken drafting classes as young as eleven years old. The lessons became a part of him and stayed with him throughout his life.” 

“I read one of the underlined segments and then the notation next to it. The notation in pencil read “If I and my vision of the future is to survive, I must set things in motion quickly. Mengela is ready and the process has begun.” In red ink the words “mother and father” were clearly legible. I tossed the book aside carelessly and backed out of the spot where I had parked and headed for home. “Mother and Father” what did he mean?” It bugged me all the way home. I got back to my apartment and climbed the stairs to the outer door on the second floor of my building. I unlocked the metal outer door and stepped inside. I locked the door from inside and then tried it. It was definitely locked. I unlocked and locked it a second time just to make sure. All was secure. I walked away and then the thought hit me as it always does.. What if I unlocked it when I thought I was locking it and its unlocked now. So I went back and jiggled the handle and found it locked. Happy that I was safe I moved on. Around the corner I found my apartment door was slightly ajar. That caught my attention right away and stopped me dead in my tracks because I never left my door unlocked let alone open for anyone to just walk in. I had habits and one of those gnawingly annoying habits was locking things, always and without exception. I even locked doors and cabinets that I intended to open again later out of fear that someone might try to open it while I wasn’t looking so there’s no way it was me. The doctor on one of the daytime TV shows had called it OCD, obsessive compulsive… something or other. I don’t care for dime store psychologist or self-help crap, so I didn’t listen long enough to find out if there was a cure.” 

“I slowly slid the door open wider and slipped inside and up the stairs. I kept my eyes and ears peeled for any movement or sound of an intruder but realized I was all alone. I swept the apartment for any sign of tampering like drawers open or ransacked but found everything just as I had left it, so it seemed. Satisfied that I was safe, I went back downstairs, locked my door and made for the outer door. I went to the first floor apartment and rang the landlord’s doorbell and waited. When no one answered I went back to my car and went looking for a bite to eat and some answers. The landlord also owned a small diner across town and could usually be found at the counter tallying receipts, this time of night. I checked my wristwatch and the dial read 10:11pm. My eye was drawn to a small crack in the crystal dome of the watch face. It had been there since as long as I could remember but it still bugged me each time I saw it. I like things whole and complete, not broken, tarnished or scratched. It was the little things that ticked me off the most and I couldn’t ignore it. A couple of minutes later I pulled into the parking lot in front of Digger’s Diner. Digger was a nickname for the guy who owned the place and happened to be my landlord to boot. His Christian name is Mathew and his last, Young. But ever since he had graduated mortician school and taken over his father’s funeral home his friends started calling him digger, as in grave digger. After several years it stuck and he decided to just go with it. Shortly after cementing his position in the community (no pun intended) he bought Sally’s Diner next to the funeral home and changed the sign to Digger’s. I walked in and took a seat at the long counter, on one of the old silver stools. “Hi Jim, what’ll you have?” asked Tina, the waitress for the evening shift. “I’m not here for a snack, I need to see Digger.” “Well he’s not here, hon. Left town for a few days, some kind of convention or something.” I was frustrated but there was nothing I could do so I ordered a piece of cherry pie. After wiping my fork with a napkin to ensure its cleanliness I ate every morsel and washed it down with milk. “Thanks Tina” I said as I slapped down two dollars on the counter and left. I didn’t feel much like staying out late but I was afraid to go home. So I decided to check in on a sick friend and possibly crash on his couch. Tom was home and let me in. He’s a night person and doesn’t usually turn in till after three in the morning. He was sick as always, not with influenza or a cold, he was dope sick. I had met Tom when I was younger and we kinda became friends. He had a heroin habit, as he called it. A full blow addiction was closer to the truth, but then I’ve never been one to split hairs. “What’s up man? Haven’t seen you for a while.” I pushed a pile of newspapers aside and took a seat on his collapsing couch. It smelled of stale old pizza and bad regret but I wasn’t in any position to be picky. “Nothin much, just thought I’d say hi.” “Bullcrap! You’ve never come over here unless you were desperate, what’d you do now?” “I didn’t ‘do’ anything. I just need somewhere to stay for the night, that’s all.” Tom plopped down in his shabby recliner. “What’s wrong with your place?” I didn’t feel like explaining about my front door just to have Tom laugh and call me paranoid again, so I improvised. “I’m having it fumigated. Ants, all over the place, can’t leave anything out on the counter or I get a swarm.” Tom looked suspiciously at me from his chair. “Colony.” Was all he said. “What?” I asked. “It’s called a colony, not a swarm. Bee’s swarm, ants colonize.” He explained. “You watch too much Animal Planet.” I told him sarcastically.” 

“After a few hours I fell asleep and didn’t wake till late the next morning. Tom didn’t disturb me, since he never woke early. Reluctantly I used his bathroom and made sure to wash my hands twice, then dropped a ten on the table and headed on out. The air was cool but not bitter and a thick cloud cover blanketed the sky. Butler was known for its inclement weather. It was either raining or just plain grey most of the time, even in the summer time. There was a light drizzle and I had to walk quickly to my car to avoid getting wet. When I got into my car I saw the book still sitting on the seat but didn’t choose to fuss with it. Instead I warmed up the motor and sped down Jefferson Street. Ten minutes later I reached the used paperback store and went in to see my sister Jennifer who worked the counter, sifting old books. She and I hadn’t been close like we were as kids. Funny how life and circumstances can put such a strain on family ties. I took the book I was given at the nursing home and went inside. “Hey sis, what’cha up to?” Jenn stood at the counter next to the cash register stacking books in piles of five. “Oh, livin the dream.” Was all she said. Then her eye caught sight of the hardcover under my left arm. “What’s with the old book? When did you start reading?” She asked sarcastically. I might have felt offended if I had been much of a reader but the truth is I haven’t read a book since high school, literature class. And even then, I bought the cliff notes and skimmed my way through it in order to take the test. Unfortunately my teacher, Mrs. Handshaw wrote the questions and omitted anything covered by the cliff notes version in order to teach us a lesson. The lesson I learned was, literature sucked.” 

“Never the less, I set the book down on the counter and asked her to take a look at it. “Any Idea what its worth?” She perused the index and then flipped through the pages for a minute. “Its old, worn, most of the pages have writing on them, says here it was published in 1886.” “In its present condition I can’t go above ten.” I snatched the book from her hands and stuffed it back into the armpit of my coat sleeve. “Ten?! Are you kidding? Forget it sis, it’s a hundred years old, it’s gotta be worth more than that.” I said accusingly. “Well good luck finding someone to buy it; it’s in bad shape and not a well-known writer. Who’s that anyway?” I felt cheated but my pride wouldn’t allow me to show it. “I don’t know, I can’t make out the name, It was given to me by an old client of mine, he told me it was priceless and asked me to keep it safe.” Jenn cocked her head to one side and smirked. “So why you tryin to sell it then?” I skipped the explanation and gave her a condescending smile and exited the store. I wasn’t in the mood to waste anymore of my time on the thing so I slid it under the front driver’s seat of my car and locked the door. I walked around town, looking for another book store in order to unload the book on some unsuspecting stooge who wouldn’t know any better. After a couple of hours I went back to my car and found a note under the windshield wiper. “Man came in looking for book, offered $50 for that one you have, call me.” I suddenly felt better and couldn’t wait to get ahold of Jenn. I threw caution to the wind and mustered up enough courage to go home. Inside, I phoned Jenn and waited. No answer, so I went to sleep. The next morning I was wakened up by a ringing sound. Finally I heard her voice on the other end. “Jim? Do you still have that book from earlier?” “Sure, I have it, who’s this guy that wants to buy it?” Jenn’s voice sounded a bit odd. “Jim, I need you to bring that book over to my house right away, ok?” I couldn’t put my finger on it but something was off. Jenn has never invited me to her house before, even when she’s had get-togethers or parties.” “She didn’t like my friends and I definitely couldn’t stand hers. “Ok, I’ll be there in a few minutes.” She just said “Hurry.” 

“I gathered my keys and coat and left. On the stairway down to the ground floor, I passed my neighbor Janice. She’s a middle age widow and knows all the gossip around the neighborhood. I said hi and kept moving but she stopped me. “Hey, who was the guy at your place yesterday?” I didn’t know what or who she spoke of. “When yesterday?” “Oh, about two in the afternoon, some older guy, probly in his forties, black coat and hat. He kinda looked MIB, you know, Men In Black?” “Truth be told I thought he was kind of sexy. Not that I’m lookin!” I didn’t want to encourage any more explanation of her love life. It struck me funny that she referred to the man in his forties as older. I realized that this man in black must be the person who had broken in and left the door open before I had come home yesterday. “Did he say anything?” I asked. “No, but sure did leave in a hurry, almost knocked me down coming down the stairs!” She kept talking but I needed to get going. I thanked her for the info and slipped away. Now at least I knew that I wasn’t crazy or paranoid. Someone had broken in and was looking for something. If it had been a burglary, things would have been missing but so far everything seemed to be in order. I jumped into the car and raced over to Monroe Street and my sister’s place. It wasn’t easy to find parking on her street due to it being one-way, so I swung into the first open space I saw which wasn’t close to her front door. Fortunately at this distance I could see her place and the dumpster that blocked the entrance. I wasn’t going anywhere near that filthy dumpster. Her husband Jeremy was removing the old shingles and replacing the roof and it sat there for two weeks. So I took the walkway around to the back. When I walked onto her back porch I could see inside and was shocked to see Jenn and Jeremy on the floor and some guy in a black coat standing over them. I slowly backed away and down off of the porch to think for a second. This had to be the guy my neighbor had warned me about. I figured that he must have threatened Jenn and was holding them till I showed up in order to get that book. “What is so important about this stupid book?” Even though Jenn and I weren’t close anymore didn’t mean I would let her come to harm. I needed a plan.” 

“I snuck away from the house and went to the Stop-N-Go gas station down the street. I found a phone booth still in operation, wiped the hand set with a paper towel and dialed up my sister’s home phone. Jenn answered, her voice nervous and shaky. “Hello?” “Hi sis, sorry I’m late, had some car trouble but Im going to ‘Stop and Go’ right now.” I emphasized the words “stop & Go” to alert her to my whereabouts. “I understand… sweety.” She said in a loving and gentle tone of familiarity. I understood immediately. She had never addressed me as ‘sweety’ once in her entire life. She was letting me know that she got my meaning. We hung up and I looked around. A young pizza delivery guy was just pulling up and went into the convenience store. He hadn’t bothered to lock up his car and I jumped at the opportunity. I opened the passenger side door and grabbed a Dominos hat from the dash but tossed it back into the car. No lice! I snatched the pizza sleeve that kept the pies hot and walked up onto Jenn’s front porch and knocked loudly. I could hear noises inside and eventually the door opened up a crack. A familiar face poked out. It was Jeremy and his face told me that the man was standing out of sight behind the door. “Hi, I have a large peperoni and mushroom for delivery, that’ll be twelve fifty.” “Jeremy looked puzzled. Before he had time to say a word, I put my forefinger up to my lips to implore him to say nothing. Then, out of nowhere I kicked the door back and slammed my shoulder into it, driving it against the wall as hard and fast as I could! Once open, I continued to press with all my strength until Jeremy had grabbed Jenn and ran outside! I saw a gun fall and slide across the hardwood floor. The man on the other side fought to get free. His hand reached out and tried to gouge my left eye with his thumb but he couldn’t quite get me. I bit his hand hard enough to draw blood! He instinctively pulled back and I made my move. I leaned back and swung myself out through the doorway and tumbled down the stairs. Shaken but intact I scrambled to my feet and ran for the safety of the gas station. I later wished I had grabbed the man’s gun before leaving but I knew my own limitations. We gathered our wits and called the police. But by the time the cops got there and searched the house it was empty. Jenn didn’t feel safe there and Jeremy suggested that they stay with his mom for the night. I hung around to give my statement to the police as well but didn’t mention the book and neither did Jenn. We agreed to blame it on a simple home invasion gone bad.”

“Laying on my buddy Tom’s couch again for the night, I remembered Jim’s words and him giving me the book and then it dawned on me. “The announcement!” I reached into my coat pocket that lay draped across the end of a chair next to me and pulled out a small printed hand bill. It read, “John Lester Payne, born June 15th 1887 – died October 8th 1987 at 7:12pm. Private funeral to be held at Geibles Funeral Home at 7:00pm Friday October 9th. I looked at my wristwatch and it said 5:35pm. Again the crack in the crystal stood out and messed with my head but I shook it off and sat up. “Tom, I’m going out for a while, be back later.” Tom was nodding off in front of the TV and slurred his words. “Kay buuuddyyy.” And he was out. I changed my shirt and washed up before leaving and hopping into my car. It took me less than an hour to go through a drive thru, gobble down my dinner and make it to the funeral home. I sat casing the building in my car watching cars go by and people wandering around out front until seven. Within minutes, on the hour, about a half dozen people had gathered and walked in together. I took my time and slipped in unnoticed at first. I waited a minute for some well-dressed men and women to finish paying their respects before approaching the casket to say goodbye. John lay peacefully in morbid bliss, his skin an almost iridescent pallor and a powdery texture to his face. One of the buttons was missing from his suit jacket sleeve and it pissed me off. I just stood there looking at it and wondering who hadn’t noticed it when they put him here! Details, no one pays attention to details anymore! I forced myself to calm down and said a silent prayer then looked up to survey the place. No one seemed interested in me or the guest of honor for that much. Eventually a tall blonde woman looked directly at me and started walking over. Nervously I looked for some place to retreat but was unsuccessful. She stepped up without smiling and asked. “Is your name Jim?” A bit off balance I shifted my stance and answered. “Uh, yeah, my… I mean yes, my names Jim?” She took my arm and asked me to accompany her into the entryway. Once there she pulled a red notebook from her large purse and gave it to me. “Keep it safe.” She said mysteriously. She then returned to her family and I figured it would be prudent to make my get-away and ducked out and down the street. I dropped the notebook between the seats in my sedan and strode across town a couple of blocks to an old comic-book shop on Cunningham St. The cool air felt good after the stale heat inside Geible’s place. I kept my hands in my pockets and left my coat open to let the air in while I dodged homeless people on the sidewalks till I reached Craig’s. The sign on the door was spun around to show the word ‘CLOSED’ but the lights were still on. I knocked and waited for Craig to open the door. He strolled up to me and looked at me through the dirty glass. “I’m closed!” He hollered at me. “Open up dumbass, I need your help!” I fired back in rebuttal. He obliged with considerable prejudice and I pushed past him. “Whatt’a ya want? I just locked up for the night.” He slinked into the back room with me on his heels. “I’ve been here all day cause Friday night is when all the new books get delivered so every kid in town came running in here.” He said audibly exasperated. “Sounds like you got a good thing goin then, all those grubby little monsters spendin their cash.” Craig rolled his eyes. “Yeah right, cept they don’t buy, they just read and put em back! And not even in the right place!” “Just a big mess!” “I’ll stay and help you clean up if you do me a favor.” He looked at me eagerly. “Whatta you need from me?” I explained to him about the old man and the book and filled him in on the weird stuff that’s been going down. “So I figured maybe you might call your uncle Harry for me.” Craig scrunched up his face. “Ah man, you must be kidin me? Not Harry! He’s a crazy old coot!” “I know he’s a recluse but he’s also an avid collector of old books and might be able to help me out.” “I need to know what’s so special about this book!” …an excerpt from the diary of James Dero

Chapter Two: The Golden Dawn

Through the front window of a small comic book shop tucked in between a woman’s clothing store and a dentist’s office, two figures busy themselves inside. One is thinly built and dressed in a wrinkled pair of black pants and a white t-shirt. He’s somewhere in his late-teens. The other is shorter and stalky, sloppy pair of sweat pants hang from his waist and a dirty white and red shirt with the word “Spider-man” stretched across the front. Both men walk up and down the aisles of long white cardboard boxes, picking up small magazines strewn about the floor. In the background the stereo is playing ‘Don’t lose my number’ by Phil Collins. The thin man hollers to his companion. “Hey Craig! You weren’t kiddin man, these kids must be animals.” “Yeah, pretty much.” So why do ya let them do it? Make a mess like this, I mean?” “I don’t have much choice. The parents give em money and some pay really well.” “It’s just a few who make all the mess.” Jim sets his pile of magazines neatly on the counter next to the register and then straightens the piles Craig had set down as well. “So you were just bitchin about all the kids, it’s really just a few bad ones?” “Yeah, I’ve been in a bad mood all day, lost fifty bucks on the Ranger’s last night.” The thin man begins to laugh. “When are you gonna learn man? You’re the worst gambler I know, ya never win.” Disappointment registers on the short man’s face. “Yeah, I know.” At last the two men finish straightening up the store and turn out the lights and lock up. “C’mon, you can ride with me.” Jim offers Craig a lift and they rumble down the street in search of the short man’s uncle’s house just outside of town. 

Jim steered the automobile with his knee while pulling the pepperoni off of his slice of pizza. “Don’t waste that meat, dude! Give it here!” Craig reached for the pile of small, round meat slices resting on top of a red notebook on the seat between them. “If you don’t like pepperoni, then why didn’t you tell the girl not to put any on your half?” Jim chewed as he answered. “I learned a long time ago not to give complicated orders to a bunch of young kids. They always mess it up somehow and ruin your food.” “I just let them do the one thing they know well, then modify it myself to my liking later.” “It saves you a lot of frustration and disappointment.” Craig chuckled to himself and with more than a mouthful of hot cheese and meat and mumbled back. “Mmmm-yeah, well, works for me, I get double the pepperoni!” Without warning, Jim pretended to see something in the road ahead of them and swerved the wheel hard to the right and then back! The notebook slipped off the seat and slid underneath. Caught totally unaware, Craig struggled to juggle his pizza and Cola! The Cola won and spilled all over the angry man’s crotch! “Son of a…!” Jim nearly lost control for real trying to contain his laughter and stave off repeated punches from his hostile friend. Craig stopped and finished what was left of his soda. “So this uncle of yours, what’s he like?” Craig frowned. “He’s weird man, always been weird.” “Mom says he was strange as a kid, didn’t have many friends. He was real smart though and managed a scholarship to Harvard.” Jim’s face shows surprise. “Harvard? Wow.” “Yeah, he got a couple PHDs and everything.” Jim was curious. “So why doesn’t he live with you guys or come around much?” Craig laughed. “You’re kidin right?” “Man’s a loon, lost his mind! He lost his job as a professor and got kicked out the University!” “He can live with you if you want.” Craig stated all snarky.

Half an hour went by while they ate and drank themselves full until reaching Craig’s uncles place. “Turn in here.” Craig insisted. Jim had almost missed the entrance due to the tall weeds and untrimmed bushes. The lane leading back to the old Victorian manor was long and wound through an acre of trees and shrubs before opening up to a large clearing deep in the woods. From the outside, the dilapidated old house looked derelict. Time hadn’t been kind to the old castle. Nearly all of the paint on the outside had either warn off or chipped away. The tall thin window panes were cracked or missing and the surrounding yard looked like a wheat field of dead weeds. Jim shuttered at the idea of going in. Only a dim yellow light shown through one of the cracked windows suggesting that someone must be inside. “In its day the house had been a single residence, owned by an English guy and his family.” Craig explained. “When the man unexpectedly died at age 72 his wife couldn’t keep up the payments and had to let the bank take it.” Obviously, Jim surmised, it had become home to a variety of hosts, from hoboes, drug addicts, wild life and such. With no one interested in repairs, it deteriorated into its present condition. It was perfect for old Harry Crespin. Craig and Jim exited the car and carefully climbed the stairs to the front door. Jim cautiously took his time inspecting each step so as not to fall through one of the missing planks. Craig wrapped on the door frame a few times and waited. Then, out of the shadows came a screech! “Eeeeeeerrrcchhhh!” Both men collapsed to the floor and watched a magnificently large owl fly over their heads and into the night air. Their hearts beating wildly and out of breath the lay entangled as a light came on overhead and lit the porch up. Then the door opened and an old man dressed in grey pants and a black sport coat stood like a statue staring at the young men. “Well, who are ya and whatta ya want?” He spit out gruffly. “Uncle harry, it’s me, your nephew Craig!” The crotchety man stood his ground. “I don’t recall any family of mine named Gregg!” Jim stood up watching and almost laughed at the absurdity of the exchange. “No, it’s Craig… with a C not Gregg, you know your sister Cathy’s son!” “And this is my buddy, Jim.” All three men stood in silence for a second until the old coot finally gave in. “Alright, come on in I guess.” He turned and walked away leaving the door wide open. Jim and Craig just looked at each other for a brief second as if to ask, “Are you sure you wanna go through with this?” but they did and followed him inside.

Jim locked the door behind them. Craig grabbed him by the arm. “Why’d you go and lock it for? We might need a quick get-away later!” Jim shrugged him off and pushed him ahead. “This place smells funny.” Jim noticed but continued into the main room. “Reminds me of one of those creepy haunted houses on Scooby Doo.” He whispered under his breath. Craig took a seat on the sofa across the large room from his uncle while Jim stood next to the fire burning in the hearth. Harry dropped down into his favorite chair and put his feet up on a rusty old bucket. “Whatta ya want from me, money?! I don’t keep money in the house; it’s safer that way, nothing to rob.” Craig chose not to challenge the man’s logic and spoke up first. “Uncle Harry, you know a lot about old books and stuff don’t you?” “I know a little, why?” Jim stepped up and offered the black covered book to the man in the chair. “Ide like you to look at this and tell me what it is, if you don’t mind.” Reluctantly the man reached out and took the tome off Jim’s hands. Jim looked intently at the elderly man’s face and it struck him odd that he wasn’t able to guess his approximate age. His face shown deep lines but there was still a youthfulness to it. His hair was slicked straight back and appeared to be thinning. Jim also noticed that every few seconds the man wiped his nose on his sleeve as if he had a cold or something. But his voice wasn’t nasal like when you’re sick. The man quietly inspected the volume from the outside on every edge and then sniffed it before looking up at the thin man standing in front of him and then flipped the pages open and examined the inside. He sat flipping and reading for a few minutes and then closed it. He didn’t look up from the object in his hands. “Where’d you get this here book?” His voice was icy cold and serious. “It was given to me by a man just before he died.” “He told me to keep it.” The old hermit sat running his withered hand over the volumes dark cover. “Did he say anything else, think?” Jim was confused but tried to remember if there was anything else. Jim paused for a second and then said “pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.” Harry’s head nodded up and down slightly and a grin swept across his lips. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” “Anything else?” he asked. Jim suddenly remembered the red notebook. “Hold on.” He told Harry and then ran to his car and searched for it. He finally found it wedged under the driver side seat and retrieved it. There was nothing on the outer cover so he flipped it open and saw an odd scribble on the first page. It was three circles converging in the center and an inverted star inside. He closed it and ran back inside. Jim entered to find Craig looking in his direction and again their eyes met and as if telepathically, each knew that the other was asking the same question they had wondered when they had first arrived. “Are we sure we still wanna go through with this?” But Jim decided for the both of them. “So what can you tell me about this Harry?” handing the notebook to him. Jim sat down next to the man, their faces lit by firelight. The old man looked through the notebook reading for a minute and then closed it. Harry leaned forward. “The book is special, it was the first in a series of six books, its cover is worn and the silver leaf is faded and tarnished.” “This one is “The Plan of the Ages” it was published in 1886 by a man named, Russell.” “Russell.” The man repeated himself while staring off into nothing. Jim waved his hand in front of the old man’s face but he didn’t blink. “It was later printed with the name changed to include the word ‘Divine’.” He began again without warning. “Five other books followed until Russell died. Then his successor published the seventh manuscript, the last of the man’s original works, its title was “The Finished Mystery” released in 1917.” Jim sat, enthralled by the man’s story. Craig jumped into the conversation. “So what about the notebook?” Harry leaned back in his chair, pulled something from his jacket pocket and lit a cigarette. He let the smoke pour out of his nostrils and drift around his head like a snake coiling its way up a tree. “It’s full of dates and names.” He said as he took another long drag and then exhaled. Jim found himself feeling funny and noticed himself getting heavier by the second. He didn’t lose consciousness but his head felt light and he became hypnotized by the rolling plume of smoke that escaped the man’s nose and mouth as it twisted and swirled up and around the man. Jim’s mind reeled and his eyes transfixed. It occurred to Jim that the older man looked almost ghostly, surrounded by wraithlike wisps of smoke. Then the old man turned his head in Jim’s direction and his tired drooping eyes turned to bright red flames. The man rose from his seat and stood with his back to the fireplace. Jim could now see what looked like horns coming from behind the man’s head! Like a monster he grew larger and larger! Jim couldn’t produce a sound from his throat! He struggled to scream and then! 

Sometime later Jim woke to find himself on the floor next to the smoldering embers of a fire long gone out. Rays of sunlight filtered through the yellowed draperies and added illumination to the dismal and shabby room. Now in the day, the room seemed less foreboding and mysterious. The dark shadows gave way to ordinary shelves of books and assorted Knick knacks. The horned apparition that once stared down on him from above the mantle was now simply the modest trophy of some hunter’s outdoor conquests. He found it sort of amusing that he had allowed himself to get all freaked out the night before. In the light, the house lost its otherworldly aura. “Where’s the old man?” Jim asked himself. Looking around the cluttered room he saw his plump friend still passed out on the couch. He rubbed his eyes and called to Craig. “Hey, sleeping beauty! Wake up would ya!” Craig’s eyes fluttered and then burst open as his body jerked and shot upright! “What happened?! Where are we?!” “Relax moron, we’re at your uncles and its morning, we survived!” I coughed up sarcastically. “Where’s my uncle now?” “I don’t know, I just woke up myself, here on the floor.” “I’m right here.” came a low baritone voice from behind them. “I made breakfast, it’s on the table.” Neither man needed a second invitation. They raced to the kitchen to fill their bellies but found only warm chocolate chip cookies on a paper plate on the table. They couldn’t deny their hunger and scarfed them down. Contented they joined Harry in the living room. “You boys went out like a couple a new born kittens last night.” Jim thought about the previous night’s events. “I don’t remember much about last night. You were talkin and then… I blacked out I guess.” Craig tried to recount the events as well but drew a blank. “You boys don’t have much tolerance; my smoke knocked you both out cold.” Jim suddenly recalled a sliver of memory, a glimpse of smoke and… the devil! “You’re the devil!” Jim shouted all at once as he flung himself backwards and tripped over a stack of books so as to get as far from the man as possible! Wide eyed, both young men watched as the thin old man stood up and advanced on Jim. “What’re you gonna do to us?!” Jim shouted! The man towered over Jim who lay splayed out, vulnerable on the floor. The thin old man then started to laugh. He laughed eyes wild and menacing! Then he coughed and laughed harder until he stopped laughing and doubled over trying to catch his breath. Now Craig and Jim’s fear switched to concern. “Are you ok?” Jim asked while trying to comport himself. The older man waved his hand at him and went back to his easy chair. After a few seconds and a couple deep breaths he was able to calm down and slumped back into his seat. “Yeah, I’m fine, just these old lungs tryin to kill me.” “No!” He snapped at Jim! Sarcasm and disgust crept from his lips. “I’m no devil! You idiot.” Jim struggled to speak. “But… but the smoke… and the fire and…” Harry cut him off. “You mean my smoke?” He asked amused. “Aint you ever seen a splif before?” Jim looked at Craig and then back to Harry. “A what?” “A splif… a joint… bud, weed, mary jane.” It all started to sink in now. Jim realized why he’d lost consciousness. “Weed?” he asked. “But wait, I didn’t smoke it, it was all you!” Indignantly he stammered. “Oh, you don’t have to puff this magic blend to get a contact high. Anyone within ten feet of me would’a blasted off last night.” “It’s a special mixture of high quality weed and pharma-grade opium.” Craig came to life finally. “You dosed us?” Harry lit a regular cigarette with a wooden match and then waved it out and dropped it into a filthy ashtray next to him. “Not intentionally! I didn’t know some fools were gonna show up at my door in the middle of the night!” “I was deep in meditation by the time you two popped up.” Jim was quiet as Craig and Harry watched Jim who was now touching his face and running his fingers through his hair. “Am I gonna turn into an addict now?” His voice quivered and his eyes near to tears. Now Harry and Craig both erupted in laughter and mocked the poor sap. First Craig. “Oh no, am I addicted too?!” “Ha ha ha ha!” Then Harry, usually stoic and subdued switched to sarcasm. “Oh no!” “Ha ha ha ha!” He pointed to Jim and looked at his nephew who by now was literally rolling around on the floor! While his companions laughed themselves silly, then sober again, Jim straightened up and felt kinda stupid. Humorlessly he whined. “Ok, ok, that’s it, laugh it up, ha ha.” Harry, talking to himself, chuckled and coughed again. “This is too much, man.” Then he turned to his nephew and put his wands up next to his face and yelled! “Blahh!” And then laughed some more.

Once everyone had settled down and sanity returned, Harry looked at Jim. “Ok, so you wanted to know more about this book of yours and the connection to this jotter.” Jim nodded and rested on the floor against the sofa. “Well, like I said last night, this book is the first book written by this fella who used to be a pretty famous guy.” “It was a compilation known as the Millennial Dawn.” “Never heard of it, is it rare or anything?” Harry puffed away, as chain smokers often do. “It’s rare enough, considering it’s become obscured by time.” “But it is highly collectible to the right people, collectors of The Golden Age.” Craig lounged on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table and sipping a cold bottle of Coke. “What’s that, Uncle Harry?” The elder man rolled his eyes. “Never mind you, this doesn’t concern you! Stick to your comic-book crap!” “Hey, my store aint crap! Those comics are collectibles, same as your dusty old books!” Harry became visibly upset and raised his voice! “My books contain culture, history and art, the likes of which those silly little picture books of yours could never hope to contain!” As he ranted he stood and waved his arms violently which made Jim nervous for a second. “These books have heart and soul; they have weathered the test of time and become classics.” Craig stewed quietly, biting his tongue. Jim took control of the situation and tried to snap old Harry’s mind back to the subject at hand. “Harry, what’s the book about? Have you read it yourself?” “And what’s the Golden Age?” Harry calmed down and then stood nose to nose with Jim. In an unnerving voice he spoke. “Tell me, what do you know about the ‘great spiritual awakening’ of the late 19th century?” Jim had a blank expression on his pale, thin face. “Uhhh… well.” Harry could tell that the young man was at a loss for words. “Alright, come with me!” The old man stood from his chair and motioned for Jim to accompany him into another room. “C’mon!” Not to be left alone, Craig hopped up and went along. 

The elder Crespin took the men down a long hallway to the back of the monumental house then turned left into another hallway that led to a large room, walls lined with enormous, long wooden bookshelves that reached all the way around the massive room and up into a second story. Bookcases built into each of the massive walls contained row after endless row of books stacked upright. The center of the hall was empty and as the old timbers creaked, the sound cascaded down and bounced up from the hardwood floors. Like the roman coliseum, large pillars stretched high into the air. A ladder connected to a tarnished metal bar wound around the great hall lending assistance to anyone trying to reach the upper deck. The ceiling was an intricate web of arched steel and glass, like that of a green house. “What is this place?” Asked Jim. “What’s it look like? It’s an observatory!” Harry’s voice zig-zaged around the room. “The man who owned the house was among other things, an amateur star gazer. He had a most impressive telescope erected in the center of this room.” “With the man’s passing, his estate was sold off along with most of his eclectic collections or manuscripts and so on.” Thankfully the shelves remained when I took possession of it and gave me adequate space for my things.”

Jims looked around and read the spines of some of the literature while Craig climbed the ladder and swung himself along the southern wall and around the corner. “Be careful nephew of mine! Wouldn’t want you to be injured now would we?” He said under his breath. Harry Scratched at his leg and began to develop some odd facial tics. He blinked a lot and rubbed his eyes frequently like someone with a nasal allergy. Eventually he took up residence in front of a large chalk board that stretched along the far wall. He struggled to catch his breath while Jim wondered if the man was sane enough to trust. “Great acoustics!” Harry said taking a piece of chalk in hand and drew a long line from left to right and then spun like a top to face Jim. “I imagine from your studies in school that you are familiar with a time-line.” Jim nodded to the affirmative. “Harry drew several intersecting lines along the chalk-line and wrote down dates next to some of them. As he did, Jim noticed that the lines were getting sloppy and the numbers harder to make out. Harry pointed to the first line farthest to the left. “This is the year 1800.” “On the other end over there is now.” “This is where the notebook comes in.” “History is cyclical, meaning that as time follows an ever advancing linear progression, empires, rise and fall and with them take the sum knowledge of that dynasty with them.” “After a century or so, the total of all man’s knowledge is collected into great libraries, some public, some private.” Now Jim caught sight of streams of sweat began running down his face. Then the jitters came more frequently. Harry’s face and appendages twitched. But on he spoke. “Eventually with the advent of war or, as was the case of the Great library of Alexandria, accidental fire lays waste to years of discovery and experimentation as well as anecdotal inspiration.” Harry tugged at his collar as though he were choking. “Once the cataclysm has claimed its victory and destroyed all its knowledge, the survivors are left to start over with what little information they can remember.” “Through the ages hundreds of thousands of scrolls and manuscripts and eventually books, have been written, gathered and the destroyed. Eventually through new experimentation and trial and error, old secrets are rediscovered and thought to be original.” The old man stopped for a second to wipe his face and then continued. “When the Vatican ordered it burned the fire quickly swept through ancient Alexandria consuming lifetimes of information from all over the world. That one library housed the sum total of all the world’s knowledge up until then.” “In one night it was all lost! mathematics, literature, history, the arts.” “After that, man was plunged back into what is referred to as the dark ages, where enlightenment was swiftly extinguished, with ignorance and superstition replacing reason and the Catholic Church ruling unchallenged and supreme.” Jim was wholly enraptured with the information being shared by his new teacher. “And so it goes, over and over it happens until you reach the very end of the 18th century.” “The book was a catalyst and the notebook is the key.” Craig finally rejoins the group and tries to catch up. “What happened then?” He sits down on a dusty wooden bench next to his partner. The older man steps up, bends over at the waist and looks his nephew square in the eye. “Sorry lad, no ‘super people’ or cartoons in this story.” Craig’s face wrinkles up in frustration as his pupils burn holes in his uncles face. “Quit making fun of my comics!” The uncle straightens up as he chuckles malevolently. He seemed to be coming unraveled, thought Jim. “That’s about all for today class! Remember your reading assignments and don’t forget have your parents sign your permission slips.” Before Jim or his companion can react, Harry hastily walks away with both hands held behind his body and disappears from view. 

“Harry? Oh Harry?!” Jim calls after the old man but nothing returns but silence. Eventually Criag and Jim dart off looking for their host only to find more empty rooms! “Where the heck did that old fart go?” Jim asked out loud. “Maybe we should split up?” Craig suggested. “I don’t know, the suns starting to go down and this place gets spooky after dark.” Craig laughs. “Ha ha, you’re scared!” Jim frowns and steps into one of the unlit doorways next to him leaving Craig all alone. “Hey man, where’d you go? C’mon dude, I was only kiddin.” Jim remains hidden while his stumpy little friend starts to freak out! “Ok ok, that’s enough, come out, stop playin around!” “Ughhhh!” Jim grabs his buddy from behind and yells! Craig nearly passes out from fright and spins around to meet Jim face to face! “You coulda given me a heart attack! You jerk!” Now it’s Jim who’s laughing. Craig stomps off down the hall with Jim struggling to keep up. “Slow down man!” 

The two young men search for any sign of Craig’s uncle but with no luck and decide instead to find the living room they were familiar with. A few wrong turns and twenty minutes later they find it complete with roaring fire in the hearth and to their surprise, Uncle Harry, fast asleep in his easy chair! Irritated and confused Jim steps around to the front of the worn brown leather recliner to address the elderly man but stops dead in his tracks. “Harry!” The old man sits collapsed with his left arm extended. A piece of orange colored rubber tubing lies on his lap and under his upper arm and a syringe with a needle sticking out of his forearm. Jim shakes the old man to try and stir him awake but without results. He watches for a few seconds and finally sees his chest heave slightly and realizes that he’s still alive. Craig watches from a distance but is too nervous to get closer. “Is he gonna be ok?” “Should we do something?” Jim crouches down and lifts one of the man’s eyelids. His pupils are mere pinpoints and rolled back. “He’s stoned.” The nephew talks to himself as he paces in circles around the opposite side of the room. “Oh man, this is bad, this is real bad.” Jim stands with his arms folded across his chest. “I don’t believe this.” “Your uncle’s a junkie.” 

It’s late in the afternoon and the sun gives off a golden glow that shows through the tree tops. Waves of pink and red clouds fill the sky off to the east while a soft breeze stirs the shabby curtains that hang in front of the tall damaged windows of the living room. Harry makes a few noises and shifts in his chair until he finally comes to. “What’re you lookin at?” He asks his nephew antagonistically. Craig sits at one end of the couch reading a comic book but chooses not to look up. “Well, well, well, look who’s up.” “Enjoy your nap?” Harry sits himself up and stretches his arms and legs. “What time is it?” Jim walks in from the kitchen with a hot cup of black coffee and hands it to the man. Harry sips it and smiles. “Mmmmm.” “That hits the spot.” Jim leans up against the mantle and watches the man finish his cup. “So, Harry, you think you can finish your story now?” Harry rubs his eyes and folds his hands while resting his elbows on his boney knees. “Where’d I leave off?” 

Jim hands the man the book and notebook then recalls the last thing Harry had told him. “You were just about to tell us something about the late 18th century.” Harry’s face reanimated and he began again. “In the last year of the 18th century, 1799, A French soldier under Napoleon, turned over a block of stone that had been used to construct a fortification in the land of Egypt.” “To his surprise it was no ordinary stone.” “It was a piece of granite with three separate inscriptions carved on one side.” Jim started to notice Harry picking at his left leg every few seconds but said nothing. “The top inscription consisted was a language consisting of hieroglyphs that no one could decipher, the second was in the demotic Egyptian language. The third was written in Greek.” “The significant thing was that the second and third were identical, meaning that they could figure out the symbols of the first by matching them against the others and hieroglyphs on the old kings tombs.” “That text allowed scholars in 1823 to learn and read the symbols painted and carved on the tombs and reliefs left behind by the old pharaoh’s.” Harry ceased talking and now looked up above his head and swatted at nothing then stopped and started talking once again. “Up until that time, the language had been lost and the symbols a complete mystery. That became known around the world as the Rosetta Stone.” “That my boy was to begin a new era of learning. Soon after, in the year 1818, Mary Shelley published a novel, the story of which she had seen in a dream one stormy night.” “It was the modern day Prometheus: Frankenstein.” Jim yawned. “Yeah, we know about Frankenstein, seen the movie, Basil Rathbone & Boris Karloff.” Harry lit a cigarette. “Yes but that book started people thinking in terms of science where as they had previously focused on religion.” “Now, the idea that science could explain or at least suggest that there might be physical answers to what had originally been thought to be supernatural caught on and became popular in intellectual circles.” Harry now had sweat beading up on his forehead and squirmed in his seat. ”Science became the new religion.” Craig was getting bored and left the room to use the bathroom. Jim took the vacant couch and made himself comfortable.

Harry puffed on his Camels for a few minute and scratched at his leg furiously then turned his attention back to his new student. “Tell me, has anything strange happened in the last few days?” Jim squints his eyes. “Describe strange.” Harry sat back and looked around cautiously and in a mysterious tone asked. “Been visited by any strangers since you picked up that book?” Jim knew exactly what Harry was getting at. “My apartment was broken into the next day and since then a man in black has been trying to get ahold of it. He even tried to leverage my sister’s life for it.” Harry was fidgeting more and more by the minute. When he couldn’t sit still any longer he popped up and left the room. Jim sat and digested the old man’s story for a while. 

Chapter Three: A New Golden Age

It was near noon and Craig’s stomach rumbled with an urgent furry. “Hey man, let’s go get something to eat, cookies are no substitute for ham and eggs, I’m starving!” Jim grabbed his jacket and felt for his keys. He signaled to his friend and they both made for the front door. “Hey, can ya bring me back an egg McMuffin?!” They heard from another room. Jim shrugged and Craig rolled his eyes as he yelled back. “Ok, be right back!” They both raced to Jim’s car. “Winner!” Said Jim. He unlocked his door then hit the unlock button to allow his buddy access. “So what’a you think about all that stuff Harry said about the book?” Asked Craig. The car started and they pulled away from the house in search of food. “I don’t know what to think, first of all the old guy’s a nut and a junkie to boot!” “But some of the stuff he said sounds right.” Craig rolled down the window a bit and spit out his gum and rolled it back up. “Now you see what I was talkin about. He lost his mind but he is still pretty smart when it comes to history and stuff.” After finding the main road again and traveling a few miles Jim saw buildings up ahead. In a couple of minutes they reached a small shopping plaza and a gas station that had a large sign on the wall of the tiny booth, ‘Red Head’ was all it said. Next to it a little Dairy Queen sat back off of the road a bit and across the street nirvana! “MceeDees! Craig shouted! “I’m gonna eat two Big Mac’s and a large order of fries, a chocolate shake and an apple pie!” Jim parked but Craig was already out of the car before he could turn the ignition off. “Hey!” He yelled to his greedy friend! Inside they placed their orders and took their food to an empty booth surrounded by other booths full of families with kids running around and playing. Jim bit into his fish fillet and looked at Craig who was stuffing a handful of fries into his mouth. “It’s Sunday, so I need to get Harry sober enough to finish his story so we can get back home tonight. I have work in the morning and you need to open up your shop.” Craig nodded while sipping on his shake. “I wonder if it was the drugs that messed him up or did his mind blow and then started taking drugs to feel better?” “Craig swallowed his last bite and answered. “Mon said he had problems as a kid but her mom and dad ignored it and said he was just mischievous.” “According to her, he had signs of serious depression in his teens and confided in her that he even had this crazy idea that he was gonna kill himself someday.” Jim shook his head. “Why didn’t anybody do anything to help him?” Craig looked down and cleaned up his mess. “I think dad ignored it cause he knew it ran in his side of the family and he had it too, just didn’t want to deal with it.” Jim sat back and then turned his head. Standing right next to the edge of their table stood a little boy. Jim guessed he must have been about seven or eight. He just stood there looking at them for what felt like forever but was actually only thirty seconds or so. He picked his nose with no sign of shame and wiped the results on his pants, then turned and ran off. “Jim now noticed a piece of paper on the end of the table. He picked it up and unfolded it. It said “I want the book, don’t make this difficult.” 

Jim looked all around at the families eating and talking, kids playing tag and crawling under tables but saw no sign of the man in black. “Quick, dump your tray and head for the car.” He said quietly so only his friend could hear, while watching for any glimpse of the man. Jim wiped his hands with a handful of napkins. Once outside they hopped into the car and took off. About a mile down the road Jim checked his rear view mirror and saw a dark blue car advancing. He floored it and flew up and over a small hill in the road! Then he pushed the engine as fast as it would go and barely made it safely around two bends. He saw side road coming up and threw the car sideways and floored it again down the side country road. The dirt and gravel that filled the air where he made the hard turn covered their exit and the car in pursuit went passed the turn and drove on without noticing. Jim took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he saw the other car miss them and travel on in the mirror. He kept to the dirt covered back roads all the way back to the approximate area where Harry lived and then turned back onto the main road and returned to the estate. They pulled up next to the front steps and went inside. Jim went to the living room and found it empty while Craig went straight to the bathroom. Jim lay on the couch a couple of seconds before hearing Harry’s voice from somewhere in another room. “You get my egg Mcmuffin?!” He yelled! “Oh, crap!” Jim said to himself as Craig finally returned. “We forgot to get Harry an egg Mcmuffin.” Said Craig. “Yeah, I know! Not our fault! We had to get outta there!” “Outta where?” Asked the old man as he walked into the room and stood with his hand out. “You got my egg mcmuffin?” he asked? “No, I’m sorry Harry, we had to leave in a hurry and forgot all about it.” Harry looked disappointed and went to his chair. “What made you two so skittish at Mc Donald’s?” Jim sat up to face the man and explained about the note and the car that had followed them. “Didn’t follow you back here did he?” Asked Harry. “No Jim did some fancy drivin and we lost him!” Craig sputtered excitedly! “Good, we don’t need them interfering.” The way Harry said them, stood out in Jim’s mind. “What’a you mean by them Harry?” He asked concerned. But Harry didn’t seem to notice the question and stumbled away into the bathroom at the end of the hall and closed the door behind him. Jim shook his head in frustration and collapsed into Harry’s chair. When he did, something caused a sharp pain in Jim’s right leg and he jumped out of the chair immediately! Fearing the worst he pulled the seat cushion from the chair and examined the area underneath trembling. “Oh man!” He let out relieved at what he found. It was an old fountain pen, the kind that required a refill of ink every so often rather than a new cartridge like modern ones. He held it up and looked the sharp tip over, nothing special. He was happy to find the pen rather than a used syringe like had immediately crossed his mind at first! He checked his pant leg and found no hole or blood stain and figured it must have just pricked his skin and not pierced it, so after looking in the kitchen cabinets for something to wash with, he settled for an opened bottle of vodka and poured it over his tiny scratch to prevent infection. Craig hadn’t noticed a thing with his nose buried in one of his comics again. 

After some time had passed with no sign of Harry, Jim set his book and journal on the side table next to Harry’s chair and went to the bathroom door and knocked to check on his host’s condition. Not surprising, there was no answer and when he decided to open the unlocked door, found him slumped on the floor next to the commode. This time however, the needle he had used to get off with was lying on the linoleum next to his head. But there was no mistaking it; he’d be out cold for a while. Carefully backing out of the room he wiped the door handle with the damp vodka rag to eliminate any fingerprints in case the old man OD’d. “Between his nodding off, picking and scratching, it’s the disappearing that’s most annoying.” He told his companion, who was still engrossed in the latest issue of The Amazing Spiderman. With no one to converse with he played with the TV remote until he figured out how to activate it. He flipped through the cable stations and stopped when he came to an old black and white sci-fi movie starring Bela Lugosi called White Zombie. “Oh cool!” He stated to no one but himself. The movie held his rapt attention as Harry crept back into the room and took his favorite seat. His eyes where sunken with dark circles and his pupils mere pin points as he slumped down and drooled on his shirt. “Hey Craig, was Harry ever married?” asked Jim. Craig’s attention to the Marvel universe was finally broken as he glanced over at the movie playing and dropped his comic. “Nah, he never did, lived alone all his life.” Jim’s curiosity was peaked and he decided to go on a little treasure hunt within the immense house. He wandered from room to room checking cabinets and inspecting the numerous books and manuscripts that rested unpacked in dusty boxes. Nothing too interesting turned up and so he would move on to the next room. With over twelve bedrooms and eight full baths not including the observatory, kitchen, living room, library and parlor there was enough space to keep him occupied for days. 

Craig peeked into several rooms looking for his friend. In a short time he realized that most of the rooms where not only run down and disheveled but mostly empty as well. He figured that whatever hadn’t been sold off in the beginning ended up being stolen or crumbled over time, leaving the rooms filthy. Eventually he found the stairs and climbed to the second floor. Every step wined and creaked like dried twigs snapping in the forest. Several rooms away Jim heard Craig’s steps and waited anxiously. The first room Craig came to, he guessed must have been Harry’s bedroom. Knowing that Harry wasn’t a stickler for normalcy, he knew that the man probably hadn’t ever slept in it, preferring instead to crash in his chair in the living room or some bathroom floor in a drugged out malaise. Due to a lack of curtains or blinds over the windows, there was sufficient light within the stark chamber. A modest twin size bed occupied the space next to the fireplace in the corner. No sheets or other bed linen covered the stained mattress lying across its frame. Several moldy, wet boxes covered the dirty hardwood floor. Clothes were piled on top of the dresser instead of inside it and they looked to be wrinkled and dirty as well. One thing was obvious, the man was a slob. “Hey!” Craig’s heart nearly jumped right out of his chest! “Ahhhhh!” “What is wrong with you?!” Craig yelled! Jim laughed and smacked his nervous friend on the shoulder. “You are so easy to scare!” Craig’s face went serious. “Don’t do that again.” “Oh, all right, I won’t” Craig looked Jim in the eye. “I’m serious, don’t do it.” Jim could tell his friends wits were about shot and chose to give him a break, at least for a little while. 

“SO tell me, did you find anything interesting?” asked Craig. “Nah, a lot of empty rooms and a few full of dusty boxes full of books and junk.” “On the bright side, there’s nothing in this house of any value so we’re safe from burglars.” Both men are startled by a voice from behind them! “Actually…” “Uhhhh!” Jim and Craig turn and face an unexpected Harry! “Where did you come from?!” Craig hollered! “I woke up and you were gone so I came lookin for ya.” “But how’d you sneak up on us without us hearing you? “Those steps are awful.” Harry walked to the wall across the hallway and touched a broken sconce that hung at eye level and part of the wall quietly slid back and out of the way. Both men were stunned. Jim went to the opening, about the size of a small door and stepped inside. A long narrow hall led off into the dark. “What is this?” Harry joined him, followed by Craig. “There are hidden passages and secret doors all over this place. The servants made use of them to move about quietly so as not to disturb the family.” “Oh, that’s so cool.” Craig muttered. “Unfortunately some of the passages are unpassable due to water damage and a crumbling infrastructure but some are still intact.” He pulled his nephew in and let the release lever go which allowed the wall to close. He showed them the way using a small flashlight to illuminate their way. In seconds they emerged from the hidden corridor from behind one of the bookcases in the living room. Again Harry tripped a small switched and the book case swung back into place. “That was so cool, what other secrets does this place have?” Craig wanted to know. Harry turned and went into the entry way. “This place is full of interesting features.” He explained but offered no further explanation. Instead, he stood looking out through the broken slats of the venetian blinds hanging next to the front door. “I think it’s about time I show you one of those features now, before those men reach the porch!” He insisted urgently! Jim went to the window and peered out to see what the man was talking about. He could see two men, one dressed in a sport coat and dockers, the other in a black suit complete with tie and hat. He recognized the second one immediately. “The man from Jenn’s house!” He told Craig. “Let’s go gentlemen; this is not the time for history lessons, hurry!” Jim snatched up his book and the red notebook and he and Craig followed Harry once again back through the bookcase and down a long narrow flight of stairs. Reaching the bottom, the passage ended with a metal ladder that went straight up until it reached a small door above. “That door opens up inside a shed around the side of the house. Wait inside until you see the men enter the house and then make a run for the car, I’ll keep them occupied to give you a head start.” “But what about you Harry?” The man smiled devilishly. “Don’t worry about me; I’ve dealt with them before.” Craig’s heart was pounding in his chest and he looked like he was about to pass out. “Who are these guys and how do you know them?” Then Jim spotted the thick mesh of cob webs filling the tunnel above them! “No way, not up there!” Harry pushed Jim up the ladder and then Craig right behind him. “No time, take this and go to New Castle not Butler!” Harry stuffed a piece of paper into his nephew’s jacket pocket and disappeared into the darkness and out of sight. Jim reached the top, unlatched the small door overhead and then pushed it up and out of his way. Dim light shown down and Craig could see his destination. Once clear of the door in the floor of the shed, Jim slapped his clothes all over his body to clear away any spiders and closed it and went to a window to check on the visitors. Craig looked over his friends shoulder and whispered softly. “Can you see em?” Jim pointed to the front porch. Two men were half way up the broken set of stairs and a third stood in the front yard. “C’mon!” Jim shouted cautiously! He and his friend got to Jim’s car and wasted no time getting in as Jim fired up the engine and they sped off down the lane. Neither of the men could see anyone following them. Out onto the main road, they darted away in the direction of the next town which lay thirty miles away to the west called New Castle Heights. 

Both men remained silent for some time before Craig broke the awkward silence. “Do you think Harry’s ok?” Jim continued to focus on the road for a second and then answered in the most positive way he could. “He’s a pretty smart guy. Besides, he knows all that houses secrets. He’ll be fine, I’m sure.” “I’ll bet he was responsible for those two guys falling through the stairs. We walked those steps a dozen times without them giving way.” “Then all of a sudden they let go just as the bad guys are on them!” “Call it what you want but that was no coincidence.” Craig stuck his left hand into his front jacket pocket and slid out a small folded note. Unfolding it he read the scribble out loud. “Public Library, Esoteric orders, the death of the Duke of Sussex by Arthur Edward Waite, pg. one twenty two, and then a man’s name… Thomas.” was all it said. “Seriously?” asked Jim. “Yep, nothing on the other side.” “I guess we have nothing else to lose, might as well check it out.” Craig’s face gave his fear away. “Who do you think those guys were and why are they following us?” Jim shook his head. “No idea buddy, Harry didn’t have time to explain. Hopefully we’ll find some answers soon.” On the men drove in search of the truth and a way to make sense of all that had transpired over the past few days. 

Chapter Four: Something wicked this way comes

March 8th, 1898, 36 Blythe Road, West Kensington, London England, 11:48pm

A carriage, drawn by a sleek black horse with white sox gallantly trots along. It slows and comes to rest at the front steps of a modest town house on the foggy, drizzle covered cobble stone streets of London. The driver holds the beast still while a coachman drops down from his perch on the back and readies the wooden step for the passengers to dismount. Two gentlemen dressed in formal attire and long rain coats and hats emerge from the back of the coach and climb the stairs. Servants accompany each of the guests as they arrive and exit their transports in order to attend a late night meeting of a very special sort. Gaslights flicker and cast a warm yellow-orange glow within the many rooms as six well-to-do figures adjourn to the library. Once inside the room, the doors are locked from the inside and each person takes their place at the table. Each of the seven identical chairs is adorned with a small brass plaque with the occupant’s personal name inscribed on it to demonstrate ownership. On one side of the large table rests English born Marie Lloyd, world famous musical theater actress. To her left William Colborne Butlin, showman. Next is James Evershed Agate, writer, journalist for the Guardian and Sunday Times and BBC. Across from him the American silent screen actor and king of the matinee idols, Rudolph Valentino. Next to him a famous artist and knight of the Royale Scottish court, Sir William Orpen. Next, Sir Jacob Epstein, world renowned sculptor. Lastly, seated at the tables head sits a young Englishman of means, smartly dressed and cultured. Heir to a fortune he has spanned the globe looking for purpose. In a chance encounter with a man named Julian L. Baker in Zermatt, Switzerland who introduces him to fellow member of an esoteric order, he soon becomes acquainted with Samuel Liddell MacGregor Mathers the group’s leader and is initiated into the Outer Order of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. After receiving tutorials in ceremonial magic and ritual use of drugs, purchases Boleskine House in Foyers on the shore of Loch Ness in Scotland. He has become known to the world by many names, Lairde of Boleskine, Frater Perdurabo, wickedest man in the world and referred to as a child by his own mother, as the Beast. 

“I call this meeting to order.” states the chairman. “I would like to thank you all for attending this night. I have been in communication with Mathers, our plans to seize the Vault of the Adepts will proceed and soon the organization will purge the apostates.” Valentino speaks first. “And what of our adversaries? Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Sax Rohmer and Brom Stoker? Do you believe that Yeats will capitulate?” The chairman’s right hand rests on the table top. He balls up his fist. “They will surrender or there will be hell to pay, literally!” The others understand his meaning. Crowley looks to his sergeant at arms. “It is time to release the hounds.”

Modern day, Jim’s having trouble keeping his eyes open and pulls over onto the berm of the road. “Time for you to take the wheel, I can’t hardly stay awake.” He tells Craig, who gladly slides over behind the wheel and takes control. “You must be tired; you never let me drive your car!” Jim doesn’t say a word; he slides down in the passenger seat and rests his head on the door. “Get some rest; I’ll get us there in no time.” Craig says to his sleeping friend. A short time later the resting man wakes and sits up to get his bearings. “Where are we?” He notices the car is stopped, engine’s off and Craig is nowhere in sight. He steps out of the vehicle and surveys his surroundings. He reads the sign on the side of a building across the street. It reads “New Castle Public Library”. “Huh, we made it. Craig must be inside.” he figures. He locks the doors and heads over to find his companion. The front doors are glass and he he’s able to see Craig seated at a small table inside, reading something. He enters and walks toward him but is accosted by a woman’s voice. “Excuse me, sir! Do you have a library card?” He does have a library card but surmises that it won’t do him any good since it’s for the Public library in Butler. “I’m not here to get a book, I’m here to pick up a friend, he’s right over there.” and he keeps walking. “Hey! Why didn’t you wake me?” He hollers to Craig. “Shhhh!!” the woman at the front desk demands! “Sorry.” He whispers back and then takes an empty seat next to his buddy. “I figured you needed the rest.” Jim reaches over and turns the cover towards him and reads it. “History of comics.” “You’re reading a book about comic books?” Craig sighs. “Don’t you start on me too, I’m sick of defending my hobby, If you and Harry don’t like em fine but leave me alone.” Jim smirks. “I wasn’t making fun.” “Hey, how’d you get in here?” Craig thumbed through his book. “I have a library card.” Jim looked puzzled. “You can’t use a different libraries card.” Craig smiled at his friend. “I didn’t, I used to live here when I was a kid and had my card in my wallet.” “Did you ask about the name on the paper?” “No but I did find this.” Craig reaches inside a back pack lying on the chair next to him and pulls out a thick, large book. “Esoteric Orders and their Histories.” Jim is delighted. “Good going man, you found it?” “Shhhh!” comes the librarian’s hiss again! “Sorry.” Jim returns to his friend and the book. “So what does it say? Anything useful?” Craig opens the book where a paper book-mark is sticking out of page 122 and lays it out on the table. “It’s right here. The Duke of Sussex.” Craig points to a section near the middle of the page and Jim begins reading to himself. “Prince Augustus Frederick, Duke of Sussex was the favorite uncle of Queen Victoria, ninth child to King George III appointed Grandmaster to the United Grand Lodge of England. As Grandmaster of the Masonic Temple of England he enjoyed both privilege and standing within aristocratic society. His personal library contained over 50,000 theological manuscripts in Hebrew and an occult collection not to be rivaled in all of Europe. At the time of his death on May 4th 1843 he was of the Second Order and one of the three Chiefs. He remained Grandmaster until his death. During his tenure as Grandmaster, he is best known for the creation of a new Order whose identities were known only to him and those he bestowed with the title, Knights of Enlightenment.” Jim makes note of several small archaic symbols at the bottom of the page. Jim finished reading and looked up at his partner. “We need to find this Thomas guy.” He then flipped to the inside cover of the book and looked at the names listed on the green card that had been pasted in. “These are the names of the people who have checked this book out.” He pointed to the first name and then dropped down a few lines until he found the name. “Thomas Arthur.” he read aloud. 

Jim slid the library book across the table to Craig. “I think you should ask the librarian about this guy, find out if he’s around somewhere.” Craig pushed the book back to Jim. “Why don’t you ask her?” Jim slid the book back to Craig again. “You’re the one with a library card…” Craig reluctantly picked the book up and stared daggers at his buddy while walking back to the counter and the crotchety woman who worked there. He stood, waiting patiently for the woman to finish the task she was currently engaged in to ask for assistance. Unfortunately she seemed totally unaware of his presence until he cleared his throat to alert her. Meanwhile Jim retires to the restroom and washed his hands while reciting a short lyric. Eventually the librarian dropped the papers in her hands onto the desk and bellowed! “I can hear you sir, no need to be rude or impatient!” Craig was taken aback by her outburst and inappropriate response to mild attempt to catch her attention. “I’m sorry! I just needed to ask you a question.” She placed her hands on her hips and waited unamused. “Well, what do you want?” He opened the book up to the inside cover and showed her the list of names. “Does Thomas Arthur come in here often?” Nancy peered down at the writing through her bifocals and then back to Craig. “That is private information and I can’t tell you anything about the other members that use our services.” Jim took Craig by the elbow and led him away and out the door. “Forget it man, that witch aint helping us at all.” “But I got an idea.” The short stocky man followed his friend to a phone booth on the corner. Jim pointed for Craig to enter and then asked him to open up the phonebook hanging from the chain. “Why don’t you do it?” asks Craig. “Those things are filthy!” Jim replies. They begin to skim the directory. “Archer… Armmor… Arnold… Arness… Arthur, Thomas!” Pleased with himself, Craig tore the page out and dropped the large book on the small shelf under the pay phone. “All we gotta do is find this address and hopefully make sense of all this.” The two men went to the car and drove off in search of their target, taking side streets and alleyways to avoid traffic, when Jim got nervous. “I hope I’m wrong, but I think we’re being followed again.” His eyes darted back and forth from straight ahead to the rear view mirror and back trying to make out the drivers face but the sun cast a glare that shielded the person’s identity. After a few blocks it seemed that either Jim had lost him or the other car hadn’t really been following them because it was now gone. Satisfied that they were safe, Jim took Mercer St. and checked the numbers on the houses as he drifted down the quiet street. Craig counted the numbers out loud as they went by. “1205… 1207… 1209!” “There that’s it right there, the red brick house.” Jim took a few seconds to parallel park and Craig examined the phone book page closely. “1209 B, rear apartment.” Jim looked around for any sign of activity in the general area but saw no one. “Stay here, I’m gonna go around back.” Walking along the stepping stones he is careful not to miss a stone. Around the side of the house he found a small back porch and numbers painted on the door, B rear apartment. Taking a piece of paper from his coat pocket and wrapping it around his hand he knocked anxiously and waited. No answer. Again he knocked and this time a little louder than before. Still nothing. There seemed to be no one at home and no lights on inside. He turned and left and returned to the car and his curious buddy. “Well, what happened, did you get anything?” “No one home.” Craig sounded disappointed. “What do we do now?” Jim shrugged and fired the engine up. “Looks like we try something else, time to get creative.” Craig sits pouting in the passenger seat while Jim drives around down town. “Stop frowning, I’m gonna find someplace to eat in a few minutes.” The car slides into an empty spot on the third level of the parking garage and the young men depart for the restaurant on the first.

They enter Pappin’s through a side door that connects it to the garage. Inside the hostess seats them in a booth and takes their drink orders. They sit looking over the menu’s until someone catches his attention. With his peripheral vision he scans the both adjacent to theirs with a planter of fake plant life between them. Whispering from behind his menu “hey, don’t look right now but somebody is watching us.” Jim looks nonchalantly to his left and catches a glimpse of a man reading a magazine while slurping a bowl of soup. “Speaking softly through his teeth Jim says “What makes you think he’s spying on us?” Craig covers his mouth to hide his lips and muffle his voice. “Look at the magazine, its upside down.” Jim sees that his friend is right but it’s not the magazine that holds his attention. Instead it’s a tattoo on the inner right wrist of the guy holding it that grabs his imagination. His eyes linger on the blackish blue circle with what looks sort of like an upside down V in the center and either a sword or cross or something under it. “Where have I seen that symbol before?” He mutters to himself. But Craig is sitting close enough to hear him and recalls seeing it. “It was at the bottom of the page of that book we found at the library!” he explains under his breath. The waitress startles them when she returns to take their order. “Well, have you boys decided on something yet?” she asks jovially. “I think I’m in the mood for Chinese actually, we’ll just pay for our drinks and go.” Jim said with a smile. The waitress smile turns to a sneer as she writes in her pad and slams the check onto the table and walks away. “Pissed her off! You really hungry for Chinese?” Jim looks at Craigs face as he rises from his seat and pulls his coat on. “Seriously?” he asks with sarcasm dripping from his tongue. His buddy shrugs and heads for the door. Jim keeps an eye on the mysterious man as he exits the place. They take the stairs to the third level and go to the car. “Doesn’t seem to be anyone following us.” Craig states with relief. But as they open the doors and attempt to get in, a strong hand grabs the door jamb of Jim’s door! Jim looks up and catches sight of the man from the restaurant! Both men look at each other for a split second and then Jim tries to put the key in the ignition. “I’m Thomas.” A sharp, deep voice says to Jim. Jim in turn stops fumbling with his keys and gets out of the car to meet the man face to face. “You’re Thomas from the library book?” “Yeah, Nancy alerted me to a couple of guys who asked about me. She’s a friend.” “You mean the librarian witch from this morning?” Thomas smiled at Jim’s assessment of Nancy. “She’s really cool when you get to know her but she can be a little hard to take when you first meet her.” Craig laughs. “No thanks!” he says.

“So what’s the connection between you and Harry?” Jim asks. Thomas looks around and then tells the guys to follow him. “C’mon, I’m parked over there, we should go somewhere safer.” Craig stutters “Safer?” “Whatta ya mean by safer?” The stranger goes to his Taurus SHO and spins away, Jim and Craig hop in and follow. “I don’t think he’s takin us to the house on Mercer St.” Jim told Craig. “Do you trust this guy?” Jim thought about it. “I don’t trust anybody as a matter practice but I don’t see that we have much choice at this point.” “It looks like he’s turning.” Jim turns right to keep up with the stranger and follows him out an unpaved road and ends in front of a two car garage set back behind a small house. Jim parked behind the other man’s Ford and got out. Craig did the same and both men followed the leader into the house through the kitchen door. “Welcome, make yourselves at home, don’t mind the dog.” stated Thomas. “Dog? Where’s the dog?” asked Craig suspiciously. “Don’t worry, he’s in the bedroom and I have the door closed. He’s afraid of thunder and I heard we’re supposed to get a storm tonight.” Jim moved a stack of newspapers over and took a seat on the end of the couch, closest to the television. “I leave the TV on too, the noise calms him down, doesn’t feel alone while I’m gone.” added Thomas. “So, you were gonna explain how you know Harry.” Jim reminded his host. Thomas was going into what looked like the dining room and returned with a cardboard box with a lid and set it down on the coffee table. “Harry and I have never actually met, we have spoken on the phone many times but we’ve never been face to face. I don’t even know what he looks like, to tell you the truth.” Craig stood across the room looking at the man’s record collection. “Nice vinyl!” he said over his shoulder. “Thanks, I’m a big Zeppelin fan, got all their albums and a few imports from Japan too.” Craig ran his fingers over the spine of the sleeves, reading the names printed on them. “So what’s your favorite album? My favorite is the soundtrack to the Highlander movie by Queen.” Thomas stopped digging around inside the box and went to the turntable next to where Craig was standing and turned it on and spoke. “Oh, I love that one too it’s the best!” Jim looked at his friend and then back at Thomas. “So why did Harry send us to find you anyway?” The stranger couldn’t seem to get the record player to work at first and kept fiddling with the arm and dials. He finally gave up and switched it back off. “I forgot it’s not working, it needs a new needle.” Then he returned to the box and continued digging. The look on his face quickly turned to confusion and then visible irritation and he began slamming paper around and then gave up out of frustration. He looked over at Jim then turned around at the sound of a man’s voice. “Lookin for this?” To his surprise, a man was holding a Browning .45 semi-automatic pistol aimed right at him. 

At the request of the man holding the gun, Craig tied the man claiming to be Thomas to one of the kitchen chairs while he continued aiming the gun directly at his heart from three yards away. “You thought you were pretty smart didn’t ya… Thomas, or whatever you call yourself?” The stranger refused to speak. He sat with his hands tied behind his back and tethered to the metal chair. Craig double checked his knot and backed away cautiously. Jim sat very still. “Who are you and what’s going on?” The newest member of the group to arrive slid the gun into the waist of his pants and opened a bottle of Coke and took a sip. “I’ve been following you guys for a couple days, Harry asked me to keep an eye on ya.” Jim was visibly confused. “If you’re a friend of Harry’s, then tell me something about him, prove it.” The slightly older man with long black hair took another drink. “Harry’s a nice guy, smart too, just a bad habit or two.” He gave a knowing wink to Jim. “Harry and I have never met face to face for real, we’re just like bookends that never seem to meet in the middle, pieces of the puzzle.” Jim understood his meaning and realized that this was probably the guy he’s been searching for. “Thomas?” “Yep, in the flesh!” “Harry called me and told me your story and about the guy in black. He wanted me to pick up where he left off.” “Only problem was flushing them out, that’s why I followed from a distance and waited for these chumps to appear and make their move.” Jim felt relieved as did Craig who stood in the corner holding a small couch pillow to his chest. The real Thomas laid out his plan for Jim. “I needed to let them make the first move so I let them make contact with you in order to get the drop on him. As you can see my plan worked.” Jim looked at the counterfeit Thomas. “So who is he and who is them that you keep referring to?” Thomas set his pop down and walked over to his captive. “He won’t tell us anything, he’s a soldier in a war that’s been going on for over two hundred years.” “He probably doesn’t even remember his real name; the Clan of Enlightenment calls him, Azrael.” 

Chapter Five: Dark Horse

In a small country house set back off the main road three men contemplate the fate of their prisoner. Jim Dero and Craig Reynolds sit listening to their new companion and protector. “Back in the early 1800’s a man who led a large group of wealthy and influential people created a small band of regulators within their order. He named them the knights of Enlightenment.” “Originally they were conceived of as helpers but soon became enforcers who carried out their master’s dirty work and eliminated anyone in the secret organization who opposed the Grandmaster’s plans.” Jim’s mind recalled something important. “Grandmaster, as in the Duke of Sussex?” Pride registered in Thomas face. “Very good!” “Someone’s been paying attention.” Jim started putting the pieces together. “So this Duke was head of the…” Thomas gave assistance. “Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, yes.” Craig started getting it now. “You mean this guy works for the Duke? He’s gotta be a hundred years old!” Jim and Thomas both broke into laughter. Thomas composed himself while Craig started to steam. “No, no, the Duke’s been dead along time. This guy is a descendent of one of his Knights. He makes sure no one discovers the Order’s existence in today’s world or what they’ve been up to all these years.” Jim’s voice now took an alarmed tone. “You mean this order is still around?” “Yep, very much alive and active.” “Active in what exactly?” Thomas looked at their prisoner. “You name it, they’re involved.” “Everything from racketeering, narcotics, human trafficking, politics, finance, entertainment. There’s nothing they won’t dabble in.” “In fact the oldest magik order is right in the center on Vatican City. In PreRoman historical record of Vatican City the famous statue of the Apostle Peter was originally the statue of Jupiter / Zeus. Vatican City was at one time the Magikal center of the world, pagan deities repurposed into saints. 4th century BCE Emperor Constantine makes Christianity the official religion of Roman Empire, 300yrs after death of last apostle John. Previous to Constantine, Caligula used site for his circus where Nero sacrificed Christians and chariot races took place.

Jim studied the man tied to the chair as well. “Yeah that’s cool but what are we gonna do with him?” Thomas pulled the .45 from his pants. “Gotta turn him loose, but not before I give him something to take back to his bosses, a message.” Before Jim or Craig could express their concerns Thomas rose from his chair and pointed the semi-automatic pistol directly at his foe and pulled the trigger!

Jim’s head rang with a terrible high pitched whine that drowned out all of the sound around him, likewise Craig was deaf and in pain as well. Jims blinked rapidly trying to see but the smoke obscured his vision. Craig sat on the floor in the kitchen with both hands held over his ears and making faces while coughing loudly. The new man, Thomas collected his few belongings and motioned for both men to follow. Craig staggered out into the yard with Jim right behind him. Thomas was loading his things into the trunk of his Chevy Malibu and stood waving to his friends. Craig had been standing farther away when Thomas fired the shot inside the dining room so his hearing returned first. Jim’s eras took longer to recover but eventually the whine subsided and he could make out his friends voice asking if he was ok. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Then he turned in Thomas’ direction. “Why’d you do that?! Are you crazy?!” Thomas chuckled to himself and placed his gun back into his waist band. “It was necessary in order to keep our whereabouts secret. If I hadn’t done that we’d be hunted like animals.” “It’s safer this way.” He pulled his keys out and tossed them to Craig. “You drive; I’ll ride with Jim, stay close behind and don’t get lost.” Jim got into his car and waited for Thomas to join him. Thomas climbed into the passenger side and told him to hit it.” Both cars motored through the country and down a lonely stretch of deserted highway for a few miles before making their way into Mt. Chesnutt, a small rural community of farmland and golf courses. A quick right turn followed by a winding tar & chip lane and Thomas instructed Jim to take the next driveway on the left. When he did he came to a small unassuming farmhouse and a rustic centuries old barn from the turn of the century. No animals, bovine or equine inhabited the grounds and it was evident that it hadn’t been a working farm for quite some time. Thomas led his new friends inside then returned to the car and emptied the trunk, dragging a large sack into the upper level of the barn and closing the large sliding doors behind him. 

Back inside the house Craig had made himself at home and scrambled together a sandwich and potato chips. Jim took a shower and changed into a clean pair of pants and shirt from his duffle bag that had rested in his backseat with an assortment of gym clothes. He entered the living room just as Thomas came in through the front door and grabbed a cold bottle of Bud from the fridge. “You guys find everything alright?” Yeah, this is a nice place, thanks for the sandwich.” Craig said with his mouth full. “So Thomas, can I call you Tom or do you prefer Thomas?” Jim asked his host. “Doesn’t matter one way or the other, Tom’s fine. I use Thomas for official business, but I’m not big on formality.” All three men relaxed for a while before planning their next move. Craig pulled open the back pack he had stashed in Jim’s car when they left his store to find Harry, inside where some unread comics and a half pound bag of M&M’s. He also kept a Sony Walkman and half a dozen tapes with him at all times in case he needed some tunes. While he slipped on the headphones and settled in on the floor to the sounds of Anthrax, Jim and Tom lounged on living room furniture. “So what do you know about secret societies?” asked Tom. Jim smiled and looked at the man with accusation and disbelief in his eyes. “Uh, not much, why?” “Because it’s important that you understand the bigger picture here before we go any further. In spite of what you may think, the world is a much more complicated place than you think with conspiracy and intrigue lurking behind every corner of our history.” Jim still couldn’t tell if Tom was pulling his chain. “So you believe in clandestine meetings and sacrificing goats and eyes wide shut stuff?” “Not exactly, but your closer than you think.” “You know that the Freemason’s have been in existence for hundreds of years and that all of the Presidents of the United States have been members?” Jim knew that much. “Yeah.” Tom continued. “Well Freemasonry is just one of thousands of smaller groups that cropped out of that larger organization. At its core, the Freemason’s stand in opposition to the Vatican. Both desire complete control over the world, politically and financially.” Tom looked at Jim stoically. “Skull and Bones, the Rosicrucian’s. Craig chimed in. “Illuminati!” Jim and Tom looked stunned at their companion. Craig looked puzzled. “What? I know stuff!” Tom returned to the conversation. “Down through history groups have popped up trying to take control through secret means but in the early 1800’s an entirely new group of individuals came onto the scene that threatened all the others and they remain among us to this day.” Jim caught on to his story and connected the dots. “So these guys following us are part of this group from a hundred years ago?” Tom was pleased that his story was getting through to him. “Exactly, the guy, Azrael, from last night is a Knight of Enlightenment and sworn to protect the unanimity of his order.” “He wants the book you have, in order to return it to his superiors.” “What’s the book got to do with it?” Jim asked. “The book in itself is full of important truths but the hand written notations in the margins is what’s really important.” “The man you knew as John Lester Payne used to be a member of the Hellfire Club.” “That small group of men and women is one of the most powerful organizations in existence but completely unknown to almost everyone, everyone except us!” “The Hellfire club goes all the way back to Benjamin Franklin.” Jim now wanted complete transparency. “And who are you?” Tom rolled up his sleeve and exposed a small tattoo on the inside of his right forearm. It was a triangle, black and filled in solid. “What’s it mean?” asked Jim. “It’s the symbol of the Keepers.” “We are the watchers or historians of balance that record the struggle between the light and darkness, the preservers of knowledge.” “When you see this, you are safe.”

Jim was becoming unnerved by the grim and archaic tone of Tom’s story. “Who are the light and dark?” Tom’s face went cold and lifeless. He sat silent and motionless for a brief second and then Jim noticed a slight breeze in the room for the first time. Glancing past Tom’s head, he saw a hole in the cracked glass in the window behind Tom. A small spot of bright red appeared on Tom’s chest just above his breast pocket and then he fell forward and dropped to the floor. Lying on the floor, face down, Jim saw a bloody spot on the man’s back growing bigger by the second. The man was dead!

Jim instantly dropped to the floor next to Thomas’ lifeless body and stared hard at the man’s corpse! He was in shock and unable to move for over a minute. His whole body trembled and the color ran out of his face. A sudden thought jolted him back to reality and he searched the room with his eyes for Craig. His friend sat in a chair in the living room listening to his Walkman through headphones, completely unaware of the danger. Jim waved his hand furiously until he caught Craig’s attention. The portly fellow smiled and waved back! Jim was yelling for him to take the headphones off but the urgency of the request was lost on him. Jim found a shoe lying next to him under the table and flung it hard! It hit Craig in the leg which caused him to look up irritated and yell “Hey, watch it!” then went back to his music, unaffected and oblivious. Jim was getting annoyed but had to try again. He slid on his belly across the floor and grabbed his friends Walkman and yanked it away from its resting place on Craig’s lap pulling the chord free! An angry Craig realized the music had stopped and looked down to see Jim lying next to him with a frown on his face. “What’s a matter with you?” Craig asked ignorantly. “I’ve been trying to get your attention moron! Thomas was shot dead, get down now!” Craig dropped down onto the floor breathing heavily! “Thomas is dead?! Are you kidding me?!” “Yeah and there was no sound of a gunshot! I saw a hole in the glass of that window and he fell forward dead!” Exasperated, Craig looked around the room. “Why didn’t you tell me?!” he asked frantically. Jim had an impulse to punch his buddy for being so dumb but let it go. “I did everything I could to get your attention but you were too busy pumpin up the volume!” Craig suddenly shot back with “You know, ever since you showed up at my shop it’s been mystery books and guys in hats and car chases and dead people! I want out!” Jim wasn’t in the mood to argue but the tension of the situation drove him over the edge! “Well I didn’t ask for any of this crap either! I just wanted some answers; I had no intention of turning into Shaggy and Scooby!” “All of this has been one big nightmare for me too! Junkies, cults and bullets aren’t my idea of a good time either!” Before Craig could think of what to say next, their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a man’s voice coming from outside. “Hello inside, there’s no reason we can’t work this out! Just come out and hand over the book. We won’t harm you!” The two rattled men looked at each other looking for some kind of plan from the other but both were blank.

Jim spoke up first. “I don’t believe him. They’re willing to kill people.” Craig was done playing detective and wanted a quick and easy solution. “Just throw the book out the window and maybe they’ll leave us alone.” Jim knew better but the suggestion did give him an idea. He slid over below the broken window and yelled to the voice outside. “Hey! I’m gonna throw the book out to you! Take it and leave!” Craig was feeling a little relief as he watched Jim rise up, slide the window up slightly and chuck a knapsack outside! As soon as he did, he scrambled across the floor and grabbed his buddy’s arm and dragged him out the back door and into the thick brush that bordered the woods. They kept moving all the while, the man with the gun walked up the walkway in front of the house and picked up his prize. It felt too light! Opening the knapsack he found a bunch of old comic books! Furious, he threw the bag down, kicked the front door in and entered the house firing wildly in every direction for several seconds until he noticed there was no one inside except the body of his enemy! He quickly searched each room of the house and then the basement until he was satisfied the place was empty. He then swung the back door open and yelled out “You can run but we’ll find you, we always do!” The man returned to the living room. Picking up the phone on the stand next to the couch he dialed a number and waited. 

Meanwhile, out in the thick wooded area, the two friends hid in terrified silence until dark. They heard a car start and pull out of the driveway but chose to give it a few more minutes before emerging into the moonlight from the dampness of the leaves and gawked in disbelief at the farm house aflame! They watched it burn and with it the body of their protector. Jim walked with his head hung low all the way to his car. Jim saw the four flat tires and slammed his fist into the driver side door panel! “Damn!” Craig tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, let’s call Harry.” Jim thought for a minute before sharing his thoughts. “Harry’s not gonna be able to help us this time, he’s a drug addict and too unpredictable.” “We need some serious help.” 

On the outskirts of Paris France, February 19th, 1903 A dark coach drawn by four robust steeds proceed through a lush forest of emerald and russet on their way to the Maison d’Auguste Rodin, a Meudon villa built in the style of Louis XIII. After breeching the front gates a steady pace is kept along length of the elongated ashen packed conduit that stretches the full two miles before reaching the estates Romanesco gardens. At long last it reaches the front arches as servants pour from the ingress to the grand home. Two figures depart the carriage and ascend to the entrance as the sun sets and the bright golden hue of evening yields to the coming nocturnal blackness. In classic French: “Gentlemen, welcome to my masters home, entre’vous, allow me to introduce Mademoiselle Beuret, Rodin.” The men turn to gaze upon a lady descending a marble staircase dressed in a beautiful gown of modern couture. “I’m pleased to see that you could make it tonight. I hope your trip was a pleasant one.” She steps down to meet her guests and extends he right hand, palm down. One man bows slightly and utters “Enchante’ Mademoiselle.” then takes the woman’s fingers gently in his own and softly kisses the ether just above the back of her hand, never touching her alabaster skin with his vulgar lips. She curtsies and lowers her eyes and then looks to the other man. Unlike the courtly manner of his brethren, he throws his arms around her shoulders and plants a very familiar kiss on her forehead and laughs with abandon! She in turn hugs the man and drops all formality. “Gerald my dear! It’s been too long I think, how’s Michelle?” Gerald spins his sister and then returns her feet to the floor. “She sends her love and wishes she could have come but her health just won’t permit it.” “I understand, really. I’ll go and tell Francois that you’ve arrived.” But as they trade smiles another more masculine voice captures the room. “No need my dear, the Lord of the manor is here!” “Gerald, so good to see you well. And I take it you’re companion in tow is the man you wish to introduce me?” The man’s brother-in-law steps forward and extends his hand in his friend’s direction. “Messieur, Aleister Crowley, may I introduce Messieur Francois Auguste Rene’ Rodin.” Both men nod and bow to one another. The dapper guest clicks the heels of his boots as he does so and greets his host. “Bonsoir”. The host smiled at the man’s formality and respect. Looking to his wives brother he gestures for the men to join him and his lovely companion for a late dinner. 

In the modestly decorated dining room four people sit enjoying local delicacies and spirited conversation including politics, commerce and world events. When the dialogue turns to literature Crowley’s attention is promptly stolen from away from his wine. “Auguste’, you are well read I presume?” Rodin smiles at his wife and sips his Port. “As I’m certain, my brother-in-law has already made my interests known to you, Messieurs Crowley.” “He has indeed. I am most interested in some of the manuscripts you’ve collected, specifically those of Zoaster.” Rodin finishes his glass and dabs his upper lip with a kerchief. “Then let us retire to my private study and a good cigar.” He nods to his beloved and escorts his companions through the massive house of their generous host. Along the way they pass numerous paintings and sketches prominently displayed on the walls and several small sculptures as well. “Tell me, are all of those statues of your own creation?” asks Crowley. “Indeed, I would permit no other.” Rodin modestly responds. They pass a large window that overlooks the courtyard in the center of the sprawling mansion. A small shed is nestled in between two large objects. One, Mr. Crowley recognizes as the world renowned Thinker. It is possibly the most famous sculpture of its day and one of Rodin’s greatest masterpieces. The other is still under construction and difficult to make out. “Have you a name for this new piece yet, messieurs?” Rodin speaks without turning around or stopping to face the men following him, he simple states “The gates of Hell.”

Reaching the bottom of a long and windy staircase of stone the three men enter through a doorway into the bowels of the earth. “This, gentlemen is my personal space.” The tall, sheer, stone walls rise to a ceiling of raw timbers and a rosewood inlay that depicted horrory beasts and archaic symbols and glyphs. The chamber was circular with shelves and a wooden chest against the wall. In the center of the room the floor stones were laid in a pattern with a large stone in the middle displaying an intricate carving of the sun. A small chair and table off to one side sat covered in parchments and scrolls. “Here Aleister is the prize of my collection, an original Tibetan copy of The Cipher Manuscripts of Sumaria.” Crowley took the scroll handed to him by Rodin and carefully unrolled it on the desktop. Spreading the artifact out across the desk, his eyes came alive as if on fire. 

Present day, hiking along a dirt road somewhere North of the Steel City two men stumble in the moonlight looking for help. “How much farther is it to the next house?” Craig asks, out of breath and sweat running down his face. “Your guess is as good as mine.” Jim says as he stops and waits for his exhausted friend to catch up. “How can you sweat like that in the middle of October?!” Craig gnashes his teeth at the antagonism. “I’m warm blooded, I overheat easily, it’s a hormonal thing!” Jim rolls his eyes but the darkness shelters his face. “I’m gonna run up ahead around that bend and see if I can find somebody, you rest here and I’ll come back for ya.” Craig squats down on a dried out hickory stump and drops his head between his knees and waves Jim on dismissively. “Go. Go.” Jim walks no more than a hundred yards or so when he makes the turn in the road to find a house in the hillside. There is light showing in the windows and billowing black smoke rising from the chimney. After waving to Craig he makes for the home and some assistance. A phone call and cup of coffee later, he’s picked up by a friend and confidant. Craig still resting hears a loud racket coming down the road in his direction. “Beastie Boys?” “Oh man, Brett.” Riding along in a tan “84” Chevette, the two men relate their experiences over the past week to the one person Jim knows he can count on, his best friend, Brett. He and Brett have known each other since they were little kids and remained friends through a couple moves and several years. Time hasn’t diminished the natural bond between them or the strong connection that only comes from endless shared experiences. Unfortunately the brotherhood both men feel has been tested a few times by Brett’s wavering mental acuity and mood swings. His emotional state is always at risk due to his diagnosed Schizophrenia in combination with mild brain damage from controlled substance abuse causing him to lose touch with reality and compromise his sanity occasionally. But encouragingly, over the last few months he’s stabilized and even held down a job which permitted him to buy his own car which, fortunately for the two stranded men, means their liberation. “So what’s up now?” Brett’s voice is calm and almost musically smooth. “We gotta put some distance between us and these guys. First though, we need to go and check on Harry, make sure he’s ok.” Jim says with concern in his voice. “You got anything to eat, man?” asks Craig. Jim’s head spins to face his buddy in the back seat. “Seriously? You’re hungry again?” “Hey! I’m a stress eater, don’t judge me!” Brett blurts out his familiar stoner laugh, like pot smokers all get, raspy and mellow. “Ah heh heh heh.” “Dude, you guys are crazy.” Jim sits rubbing his eyes and taking deep breaths trying to calm down. “You look stressed dude, you need to chill.” Jim lowers his window to get some air. “I need a drink, is what I need.” Brett’s voice perks up! “Check under your seat.”

Jim reaches under his seat and feels something smooth and round. Pulling it out and up to his eyes he’s jolted by what he finds! “Vodka?!” Brett smiles broadly. “Yeah, I hid that six-pack we had between the Ford garage where I work and the gas station, in the back.” “Nobody ever goes back there, but when I went back to get it, the beer was gone and someone left this full bottle behind. It’s still sealed and everything!” Jim cracked the seal and removed the lid. He took a gulp and it burned his throat!” “Uhhh!” His eyes squinted, he shakes his head. “Wow!” Brett laughs and reaches for the large bottle. “C’mon man, give it here!” He takes a swig and makes a sour face. “We need to put this in somethin dude.” He drives a few miles and then pulls into McDonalds and parks. Craig is shaking the back of Jim’s seat urging him to let him out! “Hold on man!” Jim opens his door and steps out just in time for Craig to push the seat out of his way and climb out. “I’m so hungry!” Brett and Craig go inside and order food and drinks for the three of them, then take a booth in the front next to a booth full of young ladies who make sure to talk loud enough for the guys to here. The two boys sit and talk back and forth to the group of girls when Jim returns from the restroom from washing his hands methodically for exactly one minute, laughing and enjoying the others attention until two young thugs creep in and swagger up to the counter. The conversation takes place too far away for the two groups of young people to make out the words but the sound of raised voices and posture of the poor girl taking the orders is definitely defensive. The two gangsta wannabes finish harassing her and spot the girls. They waste no time walking over and trying to chat them up but they ignore them and continue their conversations with Jim and his allies. Soon the flash of multi-colored lights catches everyone’s eyes and Jim remembers the open, fifth of Vodka in the car. “Sorry ladies, we gotta go!” Jim and Brett grab their Cokes and anxiously head for the car while Craig juggles his food and follows. They jump in trying to be inconspicuous and drive away leaving the ignorant thugs to deal with the authorities, who responded to the counter-girls call for help. 

Several miles between them and the cops, they laugh and breathe a sigh of relief. “Wow that was close dude!” Jim shakes his head in disbelief. “Oh man, if those cops had checked our car and found that bottle we’d be so screwed.” Craig chuckles from the middle of the back seat while finishing his fries. “Yeah, you guys are under age! You woulda got slammed!” Jim and Brett looked knowingly at each other, then Brett decided to fill their buddy in. “Hey moron, we’re under age but you aren’t! You are considered an adult and responsible for supplying two minors with alcohol!” Craig’s face went very serious as the reality of the consequences finally set in. “Oh man, you’re right, I woulda been in jail!” Now it was the two guys in the front seats turn to laugh!” 

Chapter Seven: Fight for your right 

Speeding along route eight, Brett’s tape deck is engaged as always and the speakers are blasting the music of a band that’s definitely “Licensed to Ill!” “No sleep till… Brooklyn!” blares out of the car windows that are down just enough to let some fresh air in. All three of the young men join in and sing along with the Beastie Boys first album as it snakes its way through the in-dash, after-market Sony stereo system. “Take the next right and slow down a little.” Jim tells Brett. “Ok, turn in right here.” Brett steers the car between rustic open gates and follows the gravel and crumbling pavement all the way to Harry’s decaying estate. “Dude.” Brett utters solemnly. “Yeah, the place is kinda run down.” Brett looks at Jim. “Run down? Dude, this place needs torn down.” Jim scans the premises for any sign of the bad guys he saw while fleeing from the house days earlier. Careful not to get stuck, Brett aims his wheels into the grooves worn into the driveway. The three companions exit their vehicle and spread out. Jim heads for the front door while Brett hangs back by the car in case they need a quick getaway. Craig creeps around to the side of the porch keeping a close eye on the windows for any movement. As Jim steps to the side of the front door it suddenly swings wide open! “Hello boys!” Jim’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest! “Harry! Jim yells! “Where you boys been? I was worried that the bad guys got ya.” Craig hopped the railing and almost did a face plant in the dirt. Harry and the boys laughed while the banged up kid brushed himself off and followed them inside. Jim needed to know what happened the day they snuck out and left Harry alone with the men in black. “So what happened when we split Harry?” Each boy picked a spot in the living room and took a seat. Harry began his story. “I saw you and Craig pull away from the house at the same time the fella in charge tried to kick in my door! What he didn’t know was that the doors in this place are all hundred year old oak and strong as steel.” “You can’t even hammer a nail into these things, you have to drill first cause they’re so damn hard.” “Anyway, he kicks the door but instead of it giving way, it stands firm and he flies backward and down the porch stairs head first. He smashes into the second guy who was about half way up the stairs and both guys go down hard!” Harry breaks into laughter and starts coughing. He comports himself and continues on. “So those two are down for the count and the third guy isn’t so bold when he sees me standing at the top of the steps holdin a shot gun, he grabs the other two and they skedaddle.” “Dude, you’re dirty Harry!” The old man smiles. “Yes I am.” 

Inside the crumbling estate the four men enjoy a spaghetti dinner and a few beers. Seated around the dining room table, Harry entertains the young men with stories of his teaching days until Jim redirects the conversation. “So Harry, you never asked about Thomas.” Harry stopped twirling the noodles around his fork and looked up. “What about Thomas?” “He got shot! He’s dead!” Craig interrupted enthusiastically! Harry seemed stunned for a second. “Dead? How?” “He saved us from a guy that tried to trick us into thinking that he was Thomas. Then once we got away, the real Thomas was killed by a snipers bullet by the same guys that you scared away from here.” Harry pushed his plate away from in front of him and leaned back in his chair. “That’s most unfortunate, he was a good man.” “He and I have corresponded for years and he knew his history.” Jim comfortingly informed Harry “he spoke very highly of you as well.” “You know he was an athlete in high school and was quite the lady killer with that long black hair of his.” Jim stopped talking and left the room without explanation. Several minutes later he came back and tapped Brett on the shoulder. “We’ve imposed long enough; it’s time to get going.” Jim explained to Harry. Brett rose from his seat and Craig put their dishes in the kitchen sink. “Where’re ya headed now?” Harry asked. Jim zipped his jacket and held the door for his buddies. “Not sure but I’ll call you later and let you know.” Harry nodded to the affirmative. “By the way, what’d you do with the book and notes?” Jim pushed Craig through the doorway. “I stashed it someplace safe.” he said and closed the door behind him. Out in the night air Brett and Craig both confront Jim. “Why did you push us out of there so quick?” Jim didn’t take time to answer and took the driver’s seat. 

At a truck stop on rt 422 Brett stands next to his car pumping gas while Jim comes out of the convenience store with three Pepsi’s. “Awww, no Coke?” Craig complains. “This is all they have, drink it!” Jim shouts, his patience at its end. “What don’t you guys get?! Are you stupid or just crazy?!” Brett held the gas pump nozzle in his hand and replaced in back into its holder. “Dude! Chill out. What’s wrong with you?” Jim placed his hands on the roof of the car and rested his forehead against it as well. He didn’t want to tell his two friends about what Harry had said that had him so upset. “I’m trying to keep us alive. You both seem oblivious to the danger we’re in.” Brett walks around the vehicle and slaps Jim gently on the back. “Dude, we know.” 

The downtown area of Butler, while busy with activity during the day, slows down to a crawl in the early evening. Later sometime after eight o’clock when all of the shops and stores have closed for the day and the locals have gone home, the cities darker side takes over. The city streets and alleyways fill with the night people who slumber like nosferatu and rise to greet the shadows. Unbeknownst to those who lead ordinary and unremarkable lives, some of their own brethren troll the dark in search of their true selves, these are the desperate hours. In sacred halls and lodges high above the city streets, men of wealth and distinction gather to honor the secret elders and conjure support. In rituals handed down through the ages, modern man returns to his pagan roots, devolving into prehistory beasts. Civility gives way to brutality and ceremony takes center stage. Tonight they meet. Tonight they feast. Tonight they seek audience with the ‘nine elders’. 

Down below a small car passes a storefront that used to house a well-known furniture store owned by an affluent family whose history paralleled that of the town. But after years of service to the community, the store closed and the space was purchased by the Chamber of Commerce for the purpose of instituting a community art center. Local artists and guest artist alike filling the walls with canvas and sculpture to inspire and challenge the persons visiting. Jim and Brett go inside to speak with a common acquaintance. But above the marble façade, perched on the upper two levels of the large building sits the temple of the masons. Though the carvings in the granite blocks bear the symbols and inscriptions of the ancient order, none of the passers-bye has ever shown any interest. Even the three young comrades looking for answers to the mystery at hand glide by in ignorance of the evil proceedings taking place right above their heads.

In a brownstone at 124 Columbia Heights, Brooklyn, New York, April 15th 1909, it’s late on this warm spring evening and a lone man sits, writing at a small desk. Though he is only in the middle of his life span, his long white beard and hair suggests he is much older than his birth certificate in Carnegie, Pa. acknowledges. To the few thousand bible students in his company he is a shepherd and inspiration. Surrounding him lay a mountain of open books and pamphlets, scattered on the floor and desktop near him. A single incandescent bulb hangs from the ceiling in the center of the room casting its warm glow upon the various volumes and writing instruments at the author’s disposal. He is so engrossed in his endeavors that he fails to notice when a slightly younger man enters the room. “Charles, it’s getting late, I’m about to retire for the evening. Is there anything you need from me?” The older man continues to pour over his manuscript without looking up. His reading spectacles rest near the tip of his nose while his free hand underlines key texts. “No, nothing at all, go and get your rest, tomorrow will require all of our strength and cognition, Joseph.” Joseph, a tall man and serving as legal counsel to the organization stands firm. “You’ve been burning the candle at both ends for some time now, with your newspaper gospel disseminated into almost 2,000 papers now, shouldn’t you get some rest?” Again without lifting his eyes to meet his second, he speaks bluntly. “Jehovah our God and His son the Christ have entrusted to us the work of gathering his flock. There will be time to rest after the wicked one has been vanquished once and for all time, until then the wicked know no rest and neither will I.” Joseph quietly backs out and closes the door. He knows his mentor and is aware that there is no argument with a man of his temperament. Everyone else in the residence has turned in for the night with the exception of Charles T. Russell. As is his custom, he reads and studies into the early hours of the morning until his eyes start to lose focus and he too retires. With only four hours of sleep he is awake, dressed and studying intently again. Since acquiring his current residence and the 13-17 Hicks Street building, formerly known as the Plymouth Bethel building, the new world headquarters of the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society has begun to be known to the inhabitants as Bethel or “House of God”. In stark contrast, the American chapter of the Order of the Golden Dawn rests across the river on the island of Manhattan. Its inhabitants are also busy at their work, gearing up for a new age, both camps know, change is coming!   
Jim needs time to think and asks Brett to take them to the park on the edge of town. He knows that the park is closed after ten o’clock in the evening and is completely deserted and quiet. Jim lays out the mystery book and the accompanying red notebook as well. “We need to examine these and try to find the common factor that connects the two, if we’re ever going to figure this out.” Craig and Brett read over Jim’s shoulders attempting to help their buddy. Brett is first to speak up after several minutes. “What are we looking for exactly?” Jim speaks while continuing to inspect the each passage carefully. “We’re looking for anything that shows up in both writings. The dates in the notebook tie into the notes written in the margins of the old book somehow.” Spastically a stubby arm pokes past Jim’s head and the hand attached points to something on one of the exposed pages! “Hey, look!” Jim and Brett look at the dark red ink to the left of the printed words of the second paragraph and then glance across to the notebook. “You’re right Craig… the date hand written in the book has the exact same numbers as over here, just opposite.” Jim recognizes the date. “June 11th 1909.”

Friday, June 11th 1909 Manhattan, New York… In a brownstone overlooking Central Park West. “It has come to my attention that the upstart known to his flock as Pastor Russell from Carnegie Pa, has purchased property in the Brooklyn Borough.” A slender middle aged man in a fine worsted wool suit and glasses says from behind an antique mahogany desk. A slightly older looking man sits opposite him, sipping a snifter of Brandy. “I’ve been following his exploits since he first began publishing his magazine, Zion’s Watchtower back in 79’.” “He’s managed to catch the attention of several organizations, including our own.” The man behind the desk hands a piece of paper to his associate. “This is from Waite, he wants us to make contact and feel the man out for possible membership or at least an alliance of sorts.” The older man reads the letter and hands it back. “What news from Jones?” The thin man snickers. “He’s been busy establishing the new Temple of London.” He sifts through several papers and then finds his mark, a telegram. “Uh, here it is!” He looks it over and then reads it allowed. “To: Oscar Eckenstein… stop. Went to Cairo on honeymoon with Rose. Weather hot and arid as expected… stop. Rose became delirious and informed me that “they are waiting for you.” On March 18th, She informed me that “they” referred to Horus… stop. Messenger states that “the Equinox of the gods has come.”… stop. Have made contact for the third time with messenger and am compiling complete “Book of the Law.”… stop. A.Crowley… stop. The older man lowers the telegram and sits pondering. “What in heaven’s name is this all about?” he asks. The thin man folds his arms. “It’s Thelema.” 

November 1987, Butler Memorial Park, reads a worn and withering wooden sign to the side of the road that snakes through the tall dark pine trees of an old public picnic and recreation spot. A lone lantern shown light over a lone picnic table nestled under a broad branch of green pine needles. An old book lying open on bowed timbers of an oak table, covered with graffiti and obscenities carved into the bare wood. “What’s so important about that date?” asked Brett. Jim slid the notebook closer to the book and lined the pages up next to each other. “Look what happens when you put the numbers together…” 6 11 1909 9091 11 6.” “Now the sentences written down under the date combined with the sentences written in the notebook become completely different sentences altogether!” Brett now makes a proposal. “Let’s match up the other dates and backward numbers and write the sentences under them all out on a separate piece of paper.” “Good idea.” Jim adds. The three young men eagerly carry out their plan to decipher the meaning behind their discovery over the next few hours, early into the hours of the following morning. 

With eyes red and burning from lack of rest, Jim and Brett gather up the notes they have been poring over all night and nudge a sleeping Craig awake. They wearily pile into Brett’s car and agree to take refuge back at the comic shop and sleep for a few hours before formulating their plans.

At approximately four a.m. the traffic lights on Main Street blinked yellow to alert any late night bar flies or early morning commuters on their way to work to be cautious driving. The broad road and sidewalks that ran the length of town were deserted this time of day save for the odd homeless person looking through trash cans or dumpsters for precious scraps. Then once in a while the vampires could be spotted slinking along the shadows of the store fronts on their way home from deviant heathen gatherings. There was no shortage of empty parking spaces at this hour and Brett had no trouble pulling alongside the curb in front of Craig’s shop. The store front was dark except for the large neon sign that hung in the large glass window next to the front door. The bright yellow and blue sign illuminated the sidewalk for a good seven or eight feet in each direction allowing its owner to find his keys and pick out the one he needed to unlock the place. Brett and Jim stood in the light holding their treasure and waiting patiently to get inside and find a spot in back to close their eyes and crash for a while. Craig jiggled the key in the antiquarian brass locking mechanism and fiddled with the shiny golden handle until the door gave way and glided open creating a slight whining sound in the hinges from years of constant wear and tear. Stepping inside they relaxed as the warmth from the furnace vents struck their frigged bodies. Jim closed the door and turned the tiny knob in order to lock it from inside. Brett wasted no time in shedding his damp winter coat and hat while Craig went into the back room and turned on some lights. Brett commandeered a shabby brown leather loveseat surrounded by boxes of out of print DC back issues and made a makeshift bed for himself. Craig set up in his favorite lazy-boy in the corner next to a small mini-fridge where he kept his personal supply of 16oz bottles of Coke and frozen burritos. Jim took the long velvet covered mid-century couch that the previous owners of the store had left behind when they moved out and relocated to Beaver Falls. Jim tossed his jacket to one end of the couch but he misjudged the distance and his coat missed and landed instead on a small folding table covered with plastic cups and sent them flying across the room and all over the floor in a clatter! “Hey man, watch what you’re doin!” “Sorry, it was an accident, besides they’re only plastic, not like fine crystal or anything.” Craig sat up perturbed. “They’re Atari collector cups, I bought slurpies every day for weeks on our way to school to get em all.” Jim picked the scattered cups and stacked them back up on the table. “Oh yeah, Galaga, Pac-Man, Tempest, Joust, these old games were great.” Craig leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “Yeah, remember when we used to play them at the Seven-Eleven before and after school every day?” Jim smiled while looking at one of the cups still in his hand. “I used to save my lunch money and collect change I found on the street all week so I could buy penny candy fish and sometimes those little candy lipstick things made out of Smarties.” Brett spoke up suddenly. “Hey dude, remember when you sold all those MTV pins you got from your dads work, at school? You made like three bucks!” Jim chuckled to himself. “You and I went into Roland’s Toyland on the way home and I bought a balsa-wood airplane.” “I used to love flyin those things!” Brett laughed. “Cheap pieces of wood and a rubber-band, I miss those things. We’d spend hours throwing them off stuff, bridge, trees, porches, they really did fly, till they slammed into something and broke!” Craig floated a balloon across the room toward Brett. “What’d you expect for a dollar and thirty cents?” 

Jim opened up Craigs backpack to expose the book and notebook that they had been deciphering the night for hours and smoothed out the note paper containing the writings. Brett yelled over to his friend “So what’s it say anyways?” Craig joined Jim and placed the two pieces of paper next to one another in order to read the messages. The numbers and lines of text matched up as Jim read the first few lines aloud. 

*** “People come in three categories mainly. Of course there are innumerable subcategories and sub-types but all of us can be compartmentalized into three main groups. The first is the Lemming, persons with no ambition beyond their unsubstantial dream selves. They see the world as they are told to see it and do not question the status quo. They make up approximately ninety percent of the human race, worldwide. Then there is the Leader, a select few persons whose minds see the world for what it could be. They are the one percent of the world’s population who are ambitious and dare to push beyond the status quo; they strive for more and will never be satisfied with little, these people want it all. Finally we come to the nine percent, those who are neither satisfied with world as it seems to be but also has no interest in achieving higher status in a world with nothing lasting to offer. These particular people see what will be. They are the Seekers. They see the world for what it really is and reject it. They see past the smoke and mirrors. It all boils down to a sense of self-awareness and whether or not a person is willing to accept reality as it truly is or live in denial.”

Craig’s lips continued to move as he finished reading just behind Jim. Then they stopped and he looked at his friend. “This is what was so important?” Jim said nothing and went onto the second stanza.. 

*** “The progenitor of this worlds system is the lord of the flies, master of the dead; his name is Baal, Rha, Horus, Dagon, Aiwass and his kingdom is rubble and his throne chaos. From the tops of the mountains to the lowest level of fiery sheol, everything this world has to offer bears the stamp of expiration. Nothing here is meant to last; it is all fodder for the worms in the end. It is written that all his kingdom will be brought to ruin and the birds will pick their bones clean on the last day.” There is a new age, a golden age coming and a new savior. He is the Fuhrer of a new Reich, a sacred Reich. He will issue forth a divine plan.

Then just below the small paragraph was written… “Protect the hermetic light and talk of this to no one but those entrusted to our fold. It is knowledge to be shared with only the 33rd masters among our Nazi countrymen.” Jim turns the page to find something written in German. He writes it down on a piece of paper and tucks it into his wallet to look up later. H e then stuffs the notebook and old black book into a backpack he borrowed from Craig and slung it over his shoulder.

Jims face has stoic and pale. “I believe this is what everyone is so protective of. One group wants to expose this and the other to bury it.” Brett took a deep breath and let it out slowly before speaking up. “33rd master? Your uncle Harry is a master mason isn’t he Craig?” Craig stood up and gazed at Brett. “Yeah, he’s a master mason, 33rd degree.” Jim turned around to face Craig. “What’s wrong?” Craig turned away and went to a door in the corner of the room and pointed to the lock. “I think you guys should see what’s in here.” His two buddies came to his side. “The doors locked with a pad-lock, got the key?” Craig shook his head no. Jim looked confused. “It’s your store and you don’t have a key?” Craig looked terrified. “Technically it’s not really ‘my store’ I just run it.” Brett chimed in next. “So who owns this place if it’s not yours?” Jim felt a shiver run down his back as he realized the truth. “This building belongs to Harry.” Craig nodded to the affirmative. 

“I think now’s a good time to bring up something that’s been on my mind for a few days.” Brett gave a knowing glance. “You mean about Harry the other day at the house?” Jim nodded. Craig was still in the dark and wanted to know what they were talking about. “What about Harry?” Jim looked at them both and went over the conversation he had had with Harry concerning Harry’s affiliation with the Keepers and Thomas. “Thomas told me before me that he had only talked with Harry over the phone and in letters, never in person! They never met! But when I talked to Harry at the house he told me that Thomas had long black hair and that he was popular with women. He talked like they had spent a lot of time together. Then I noticed the tattoo on Harry’s wrist.” Craig was shocked and confused. “I never saw a tattoo.” Brett jumped in. “I did, it was a circle of fire around his right wrist.” Jim nodded again. “Yeah, I saw it too; it’s the Hell Fire symbol.”

Close to fifteen miles west of the three young men, on a sprawling untended estate that borders a small man-made lake, several cars sit parked out in front of the deteriorating mansion. A very secret, closed door session of the most deviant kind is taking place. Within the walls of the decrepit mausoleum, eight men and one woman sit in attendance around a large table covered in lit candles. A more morose and somber lot could not soon be found. “Brethren and Sister, the culmination of over one hundred years of research and devising has finally come to fruition. I am delighted to inform you all of my progress in acquiring the “All Sight.” A different voice breaks the speaker’s cadence as the other attendees listen in. “I really must protest, I was under the impression that you were already in possession of the All Sight.” A devious smirk takes its place across his face as he addresses his peers. “Far be it from me to cast dispersions on this occasion but it seems to me that Master Crespin has made similar claims in the past. Once again we are left wanting as he offers rhetoric rather than results.” Harry stamps his fist into the table hard enough to jar the large candle holders causing the flames to waver. Harry’s voice quivers and seethes with anger and frustration. “Master Horatius, please permit me to realign your memory.” “It was you who first suggested that we find and obtain the book and it was you who was initially charged with finding it.” “In your stead, I have found and scanned the novel myself and have its whereabouts in sight as we speak, so do not presume to discount me to our family yet.” As Harry gears up for more debate, the single female occupant of the gathering wraps her gloved knuckle on the table top. “Excuse me fellows but this quibbling is getting us nowhere. Master Crespin, where is the book now?” The parties host bows and addresses Sister Magus. “My good sister, it is under surveillance and within reach. My subordinates are there now and will return shortly with our desired prize as I have promised.” Harry smiles and stiffens in his posture out of arrogant defiance. Teresa Shakely again addresses Harry. “And what of the boy?” Crespin’s face turns dark and menacing. “He too is being monitored, Sister.”

Chicago, site of the Worlds Columbian Expedition 1893. Two men stroll along the main thoroughfare of what people from all over the world are now calling the “World’s Fair”. “So tell me Sam, where are we so far in reaching this Russell fellow?” The other man, of average height and weight and sporting a seersucker suit runs his fingers through his thick curly mane of greyish white locks then flattens out his thick bushy moustache. “Well I haven’t as yet met the man but I’m told he’ll be here this week to see the exposition for sure.” “In fact I hear he’s a fan of your ‘alternating current’.” The first man checks his pocket watch. “I’m intrigued as well. I’ve read some of his sermons and the first edition of his new series on biblical history. I have even dined with him at Westinghouse’s manor, he’s quite the orator.” The man with the thick curls and white suit taps his cane on the sidewalk. “Nichola, it’s most obvious to me that a new age is about to dawn and with it the rise of some remarkable men to meet the challenge.” “A brave new world lies just ahead on the horizon. As brother Crowley aptly put it in his latest writings, “we are the chosen and it is our duty to guide mankind in the proper direction at any cost.” Tesla, a quiet man of few words but the intellect of a giant nods in agreement. “Yes Sam, I concur. It is no coincidence that men such as we, have been born into such a pivotal time as this all at the same time. It is by some divine providence or act of universal readiness that we and those like us have merged our perspective gifts in order to seize the day and drag our flock into the future. It’s into a whole new realm of possibilities that we are about to embark.” Samuel Clemens produces a small silvery box from his jacket pocket from which he takes an appropriate pinch of snuff and inhales a bit into each nostril producing a conservative little sneeze to clear his sinuses. “Man is about to become god unto himself, limitless power is almost within reach.” Telsa stops to look up at the great dome of glistening white and crystal at the furthest end of the main fountain. “I only hope that we don’t follow Icarus example and plummet due to our own hubris.” Clemens slaps his stoic friend on the back gently. “If we do, I only hope to be standing next to you and not Edison.” Both men laugh at the insinuation of being tethered to such a shameless egomaniac at the time of the end. 

July 15th 1918 Raymond Street Jail, Brooklyn, New York… “How are you holding up?” asks William. A tall man in similar striped clothing befitting a convict sits on a steel cot suspended by chains from the wall and anchored on one side. “I’m fine brother and you?” The short, balding middle aged man rests on his cot on the opposite was. “I slept like a baby, thank you.” “Have you heard any news from Bethel?” James Rutherford closes the bible in his lap and sets it aside. “I was summoned to the visitor’s area early this morning. Our brothers are standing strong and determined to preserver in our absence.” William Van Amburg sits up. “What of brother De Cecca” Rutherford shakes his head. William continues. “I know Jehovah will see us safely through this trial but how long do you think it will be before we are exonerated?” The tall man leans forward and maintains a stoic countenance. “However long He thinks is necessary brother, and not a day sooner or later.” “Be it twenty years or twenty days, His purposed will have been served and not our own.” Van Amburg nods and jovially says “I hear Atlanta is hot this time of year.” Both men chuckle.

Across the river in the Upper Manhattan district in one of the newly constructed building fashioned around a steel skeleton, a group of wealthy business men and corrupt politicians gather like hyenas to hover over documents. “As I have said before, we have won a great victory over our enemies, it time we acknowledge that fact and relax.” A fat little man in a tight brown suit and robust mustache stomps him silver handled cane on the tile floor. Tap tap tap! “Now is no time to rejoice or relax, now is the time when we knuckle down and decimate the rest of those bible students!” “George is right, we cut off the bible student’s head but the body still remains and who knows how long it will be before a new head pops up to take the old ones place?” A thin man behind a large oak desk breaks the argument up. “Please gentlemen, we have done our best and seen the rabble locked away for the next twenty years, Rutherford and his cronies are done. The rest of their organization are sheep without a shepherd and lost.” “In no time at all they will have wandered away leaving us with no opposition to contend with.” Two other men pour drinks and laugh as the rest of their party join in the celebration. “To the law and our impartial judicial system!” Frederick T. Castor hollers with dripping sarcasm! The other all stand and raise their glasses in a toast to a smarmy, belligerent Judge Harland B. Howe from Vermont. “It was my pleasure!” 

Present day: 7:30 in the morning with the light of daybreak showing itself two hours earlier comes the sights and sounds of daily life for the roughly ten thousand occupants of the small city and surrounding boroughs of downtown Butler. Inside a small shop on the Northern end of town, three young men work to free a locked door from its hinges. “It’ll be easier to open once we pull the pins from the hinges. Then we slip the door out and out of the way, easy.” Jim explains to his friends as they assist him. The room beyond the doorway is dark and there is no sign of a light switch. Brett takes the offensive and darts into the blackness for only a second and then a light goes on illuminating a rickety old set of stairs to somewhere down below. Brett leads the way down into a basement that obviously hadn’t been disturbed in a very long time. “Wow!” says Craig. “I had no idea all this stuff was down here, I always thought it was a closet or something!” Jim brushes cob webs away from his face. “Look at all this junk.” He reaches into a box and pulls a filthy brown shirt from inside. Next he draws out a thin leather belt. “This is too thin to hold up pants very well.” Brett laughs… “Its not that kind of belt you moron!” “That’s a bandoleer for that shirt. It was worn by a group called ‘the brown shirts’, they were the earliest Nazi’s.” Jim looked at Brett with stunned silence. “What? My uncle has tons of books and magazines about World War II, I used to look at the pictures all the time when I was a kid.” Jim dug through the rest of the items in the box and found a holster containing a Luger pistol and a pair of tall black boots. “Why does Harry have all of this stuff down here?” asked Jim. Craig was rummaging through boxes and looking at old photos. “He’s always collected junk, books; it figures he’s into war stuff too.” Brett finds a brown leather bag and blows the thick layers of dust away with a massive breath and then sets it down to inspect the initials embossed on the flap. Jim laughs as he turns over filthy tarps and looks through chests and boxes of clothing while Craig reads old letters and paperwork. Finally Brett decided to forego picking the lock and picked up a loose brick. He raised it over his head and brought it down onto the locking mechanism with a thud and a ching! The lock sprung open! “Huh! Didn’t think I could do it did ya? Oh yeah baby…Gker, gker, gker!” (a silly laugh made up and used at odd times by Jim & Brett, a private joke). Jim and Craig help each other in stretching out a large red banner as Brett lets out a holler! “Wow! Hey! Check this out!” His two accomplices rush to join him on the floor. “What’d you find?” Brett hands Jim a small black booklet. On the front, printed in German is the word “Reisepass”. “It’s a passport.” Jim explains. Brett whispers “open it.” Jim does and is floored by what he sees. It is a black and white photo of a young man in Nazi clothing and below it a list of names. Wiligut, Karl Marie, aka McMurtry, Grady L. But it was the last name that made Jim’s blood run cold… aka Crespin, Harlod Jefferson! “Harry!” was all Jim could say. Craig took the passport from his friend and read it for himself. The picture was old and faded but the image was undeniable! It was a picture of a young Harry Crespin! 

Chapter Eight: piper at the gates of dawn

Berlin, Gemany July 11th 1939 Wedelsburg Castle… Well-manicured lawns, palatial gardens, a forest full of cultivated trees and walls of stately bushes line the outskirts of sixteenth century Austrian architecture and craftsmanship. The stone walls and stained glass windows are a testament to the Bavarian stone masons who carved and fitted the raw materials into such a masterpiece. But it is the fine medieval tapestries that line the walls inside that really display the rich history contained within. Out front at the front gates, two details of SS officers stand guard, allowing only a carefully scrutinized roster of people entry at any given time. Likewise armed soldiers with trained dogs roam the grounds to insure privacy and security. In one of the over forty or so rooms within the castle, a small group of men meet to discuss politics and culture while two men excuse themselves to resume a conversation in private. “So tell me Karl, what do your astrological charts say concerning the success of the Reich?” asks a middle aged man in uniform, a thin mustache garnishing his upper lip and traditionally short cropped hair on top and shaved sides. His confidant is in his mid-twenties and dons a rather smart looking modern suit with broad lapels with a blue flower corsage. “I beg your indulgence Her Reichsfuhrer. The ethereal plain is both enigmatic and mystifying at times as I’m sure you well know Her Himmler.” The older man sips his cup of rich Bolivian coffee. “I am aware of your limitations as well as those of your pseudoscience and I am quickly losing patience with both.” “The Fuhrer is most anxious to receive my report and will not tolerate delay mein friend.” The younger man’s voice wavers slightly as he shuffles his charts. “The Fuhrer must understand, the spirit realm cannot be rushed!” Himmler interrupts his statement. “The Fuhrer must do nothing! You two bit charlatan!” “He is impressed only with immediate results so I suggest that you tell your spirits to make haste if you value your head, or you might soon be joining the ethereal realm yourself.” Grady McMurty, born Karl Maria Wiligut, humbly acquiesces and rethinks his proposal. “I mean no disrespect sir; I only mean that even my powers have limitations. Persist as I must, I am unable to force the answers from the stars.” Himmler places his empty cup on a staffers silver tray and takes a fine Cuban cigar from the humidor present. “Well then, I may have to rethink our relationship. Hitler has recently disbanded the Order of Thelema here in Germany and taken its priests into custody by way of the gestapo.” “They await their fate in Dachau, wearing an inverted red triangle. As Reichsfuhrer of the Schutzstaffel, I have only the authority that mein Fuhrer permits me. I’m sure he will be less harsh with you.” He says with a voice dripping in sarcasm. An anxious and fearful Mr McMurty stuffs his maps and charts into a leather bag with a shoulder strap and initials embedded into the front flap. “As psychic guide to mein Fuhrer I should expect some consideration.” He places the bag next to his coat and hat that occupy a lounge chair next to the door. “How ironic that our occult brothers wear upside down red triangles on their chest while our nemesis, the Jehovah’s Witnesses wear the purple triangle on theirs.” Himmler remains silent and does not explain that it was by his own order that the irony was created. “As the Fuhrer’s minister and envoy to the supernatural, I have done everything possible to make Hitler happy, as difficult as that has been.” Karl leans on the desk next to him. “Well in the event that you find yourself in the Fuhrer’s immediate company, please give him my warmest regards and assure him that I will be delivering a favorable report, post haste.” Heinrich Himmler has been called many things by many people but naïve has never been one of them. He doesn’t turn when the young student of Thelema heads for the door. “I hope you find what you’re looking for. And if you don’t I hope you at least find peace.” Karl stops to listen to Himmler’s final words of warning and decodes his meaning. Clutching his meager belongings and a small black passport, he exits the room and then the castle before entering a waiting automobile and racing from the scene. 

Below a tiny store front, deep in the basement enclave of historical artifacts on some side street in Pennsylvania, Jim and Brett confer while Craig considers the various clues to his family’s shortcomings and peculiarities. “These papers and photos are old and faded. They’re definitely from the late nineteen thirties or early forties.” Brett says inspecting the back printing. “It seems that Uncle Harry was some kind of mystic from the Nazi party when he was younger and I’ll bet he knows more than he’s been saying.” Craig stood in the corner of the damp room holding the brown shirt in his hands and looking at the piles of memorabilia all around them. “All this time and I never knew, not any of it. I can’t imagine that my mom or dad know anything about it either.” Jim sits on the end of an old hope chest. “Somebody needs to tell the authorities. I’m just not sure who to tell.” Brett kicks a box of pictures on the floor next to him. “We need to take this stuff somewhere safe. I’ve seen enough movies where the good guys leave and come back only to find everything gone!” Jim laughs at the absurdity of his friend’s words but recognizes some truth to it. Craig tosses the shirt back into the box it came from. “Well, let’s get goin then.” While standing up, Jim notices a copy of Grohlman’s Dictionary Third Edition in one of the boxes. He lifts the thick book and sees another academic volume under it. This book grabs his interest immediately. On the cover it read clearly, German to English translator. While his companions load their arms with as much as they can carry and take turns filling the trunk of Jim’s car until the trunk is completely full, Jim looks through the pages until he finds what he’s looking for. He takes the piece of paper he placed into his wallet days earlier and compares the writing to the words listed in the translator. Finally he reads the translation aloud… “All Sight”. He then joins his friends who are waiting upstairs next to the car. Back out on the streets, Brett winds through the alley ways and back streets until they reach the outskirts of town and make way for the open space of the countryside. Craig and Jim ride along quietly contemplating their next move. 

As the little two door car winds along the narrow country road Craig is lulled off to sleep by the rhythmic tapping coming from the poorly oiled four cylinder engine. Jim rests his head against the seatbelt strung across his chest and up to a point on the door-jam next to his head. “Brett, stop by my house for a minute, will ya?” Brett down shifts and takes the next right turn. “Ok. Your parent’s home?” Jim nods. “Should be, it’s Thursday, so they haven’t left for the boat club yet.” Brett huffs. “You’re lucky you got patents with money dude.” Jim turns to his friend driving. “It’s not all that great.” “They work four days a week and spend a three day weekend on the river every week. On a big boat!” “Sounds pretty cool to me.” Jim checks his watch and thinks about his parents. 

On the third Saturday in the month of July, friends and family all gather in a small VFW for a ceremony. It’s 1969 and the summer is unusually dry for what is normally a humid part of the country. In a small steel town, east along the Ohio River twenty miles from Pittsburgh the small group of people watch as Michael Dero and his fiancé Grace tie the knot. Almost two years later, after endless trips to the fertility clinic and several unsuccessful attempts to conceive, the young couple adopt a baby boy from an Eastern European country. The adoption agency is based in Philadelphia with satellite organizations in Germany, Bolivia and Denmark. Unknowingly, the boy grows to young adulthood believing that he was born to Mike and Grace as their own flesh and blood. They name him James after his adoptive father’s dad James Eddison Dero. 

The clock in the car stereos face reads six fifteen pm as Brett pulls into the driveway of a three bedroom, two bathroom home. The mailbox says 224 New Castle rd. Jim wakes his buddy in the back seat and all three boys go inside. “Hello! Mom, dad?” Jim steps into the large living room followed by Brett and Craig. “Jim? Is that you?” Mrs Dero asks as she steps into the room from the kitchen with both hands full of what will eventually be dinner. “Hi boys, I’m putting dinner on, it’ll be ready in a few minutes.” “Jim, your dad is out back changing the oil on our car, would you go and get him?” Jim leaves his friends watching TV and heads for the garage. His father is under a car that he bought recently and trying to loosen the drain plug to the oil pan. “Dad, mom says to come in for dinner.” His father keeps working a few seconds until Jim repeats his words. “I heard you the first time!” Jim stands still and shows no sign of fear but inside he screams at the top of his lungs inside his head! “Jerk!” Jim looks around and spots his father’s tool box, the lid in open. He doesn’t remember ever seeing the tool box open before. His father always keeps it locked. Inside the top drawer he can see what looks like a small black book. But what he sees on the front cover turns his blood cold! Then the man slides out from under the vehicle and stands up, walks to the sink and washes the grime from his filthy hands. Jim looks at the man’s hands. They remind him of his grand-fathers hands but not his own. In all the years he’s grown up, he’s never felt comfortable with his old man. He remembers feeling uneasy and fearful of the man ever since he was old enough to remember. His father’s words still wrung in his ears, “You’re a guest in this house, anytime you don’t want to follow my rules, and you’re welcome to leave.” Jim remembers that day when he was seven years old like it was just yesterday. He suddenly snaps out of it and finds himself standing face to face with his dad, now, hear. “You stand there with your eyes glazed over and your mouth hanging open.” “Just like always, I try to talk to you and you go blank like some sort of statue or zombie.” Mike turns and walks inside leaving Jim alone with his thoughts. “I wish you were dead!” He says to himself in his mind. Then he too goes inside for dinner. Mike sits at the end of the dinner table with Grace serving from the kitchen a plate at a time. Brett and Craig sit across from each other and Jim takes his usual seat next to his father. After a short prayer they begin eating and talking. Grace happily initiates the conversation. “So where you boys been? Haven’t seen you in days.” Jim jumps in quickly to steer the topic away from what they had really been up to. “Oh, uh, we went to Columbus for a few days. Craig wanted to go to the comic-on.” Mike laughs. “You guys went to a comic book convention? How pathetic.” Craig chose not to say anything to antagonize Jim’s dad but on the inside he was fantasizing about punching the man in the face repeatedly! 

Jim couldn’t eat his meal fast enough. He finished his food and desert in record time while Craig had time for seconds and Brett spent ten minutes in the bathroom. Jim gathered a fresh batch of clothes and a few snack cakes for the road and jams them into his backpack until his mom entered his room. “Where you off to now? Seems like you’re never here anymore.” Jim sat on his bed holding one of the tiny action figures he had collected when he was younger. “I can’t stand him anymore; I need to get away from him. I’m sorry, I love you but I can’t take it.” Grace sits next to Jim and puts her arm around his shoulders. “I used to sit in here and rock you to sleep when you were little. Now I can barely get my arm around you, you’re getting to tall.” Jim feels sad for a second. “I’ll be back, I just need to go for a while, that’s all.” She hugs him tightly and then leaves. Brett steps into the doorway. “C’mon man, we gotta get on the road.” Jim grabs his belongings and heads for the car where Craig is already waiting. “Let’s go.” Jim says to Brett as he turns the car, backs out onto the road and drives away without any fanfare. A few miles away, Craig yells over the music of Suicidal Tendencies blasting from out of the rear speakers in the back seat. “I’m sorry Jim but your dad is a jerk!” Jim smiles. “No kidding.” Brett looks over at his friend and turned the volume down a bit. “He always seemed cool when we were kids but he’s gotten kinda mean.” Jim pictures the symbol he saw on the book in his dad’s tool box… a circle of flames! Jim feels sick to his stomach but chooses to keep the info to himself and slumps down into the seat and closes his eyes. He remembers the summer just before ninth grade and talking to his parents about signing up for the next year’s classes. He had wanted to take a language, German. He said that he wanted to learn something new. The truth was that his dad had learned to speak German while living in New York City when he was a young man and Jim wanted to be able to speak to him, have something in common with him. He wanted to share something with his father, just the two of them, bring them closer. He had tried everything from camping to fishing but his dad took all of the fun out of them and made Jim miserable. This was his last effort to reach his old man. When his dad heard that he wanted to learn the language did everything in his power to discourage the boy from taking it. “Don’t waste your time, you won’t ever use it. After a little while you won’t even remember any of it.” Mike told him. He told him to take general courses since he wouldn’t be going to college anyway. “Just get a job and live a simple life.” That was what he told him over and over. Always the same excuse, don’t waste your time. It didn’t occur to Jim until years later why the man really didn’t want him to learn the language. Mike was a sociopath with a narcissistic personality disorder. If Jim had actually learned to speak German fluently, it wouldn’t have made the two feel closer. It actually would have exposed the inadequacies in his father’s poor vocabulary. Michael Dero liked to impress others with his language skills but in reality he had only learned a few phrases. He wouldn’t have been able to hold a real conversation with his son. He would have lost his ability to feel superior. It was this same feeling of inadequacy that caused him to put the boy down whenever possible, belittle him and his ambitions. When Jim asked him to teach him to lift weights like he had done earlier in his life and supposedly his grandfather had done before him, his father strongly suggested that he not try it. “Don’t do it, you’ll just hurt yourself. Your body type isn’t built for muscle or strength, you’re too thin. Just stay thin and you’ll live longer and be healthier.” Jim knew that his dad felt intimidated by the idea of Jim becoming bigger and stronger than him and wanted to maintain his dominance over the boy. He didn’t want to raise a challenge to his father’s sense of control. It never would have occurred to him that his father was afraid of his learning German for another reason involving the exposing of the man’s relation to the Hell Fire Club!

Jim opened his eyes and sat up. “We should camp out near the lake tonight.” Brett’s face lit up. “Oh yeah, camp out. We’ll make a camp fire and I’ll snag us some beer!” Craig was just as excited by the notion and bounced up and down in the back. “Woo hoo!” It was settled, camping, fire and beer. Though Jim wasn’t much of a drinker he liked the idea. He hadn’t been a rebellious kid. He did as he was told and didn’t talk back. He followed the rules and stayed out of trouble while other kids around him where up to no good. But he looked forward to cutting loose and doing something out of character for a change. It also wouldn’t hurt to feel numb for a change after everything that had been going on and especially what he had just found out about his father. Now a new question popped into the boys head for the first time… “What about mom, was she involved too?” After Brett had stopped at his father’s auto parts store and liberated two six packs of Iron City from the back fridge, the three adventurers headed for Lake Arthur. Lake Arthur was also known to the locals as just Moraine. It was a man-made lake that hadn’t existed for more than a year before Jim had been born as far as he knew. It had picnic grounds and fishing areas, docks and several places to put boats into the water. Tonight however, it was a secluded clump of cleared ground deep in the woods that sat next to the water on the Northern shore that had the boy’s attention. It took a while to walk the mile long trail before reaching the little camping area but it was always empty since only a few people knew where it was and tonight it was deserted and quiet. They set up their camp complete with sleeping bags and cooler. Brett was an expert at starting fires since he had been a firebug all his life. Soon the warm glow of orange and yellow flame lit their buzzed faces and blurry eyes. Thy told stories and laughed like boys who hadn’t been running for their lives. For the first time in long while they were just silly kids having a good time with not a care in the world to weigh on their minds. Tonight the dangerous world around them would have to wait. It was time to just chill out. 

There’s something about a far off place and a camp fire that makes a person relax enough that he’s willing to set aside his ego and sing along with his friends. The phenomenon is especially contagious when Pink Floyd is on the radio. “…when I was a child I had a fee…ver. My head felt just like two ballooooons.” “I got that fee…ling once again…” David Gilmores guitar accompanied Roger Waters’ voice in perfect harmony while Jim and his two friends sang along into the night, one song after the next until sleep began to take over. Soon all three were fast asleep and dreaming about adolescent sin. 

Gentle rays of bright sunlight broke through the tall pines and invaded the space around young Jim’s left eye causing him to stir and then wake from his almost comatose state. Sitting up and wiping the sleep from his face he was surprised to find someone standing over him. “Wake up sleepy head.” Jim looked around hastily aware of trouble! “Who are you?” Jim asked the man closest to him while his two companions lay tied and gagged in front of him on the ground and four armed men watched. “We’re here for you!” “Me?” “Listen there’s been some kinda mistake or something…” He was cut off abruptly. “Save it Dero, it’s time to go, get on your feet and behave or your friends might just have a little accident.” Jim looked at his friends and saw the fear in their faces. He stood up and was taken by the away, leaving his friends behind with one of the armed men as their guardian. 

May 2nd 1945, 8:36 pm Fuhrerbunker, Berlin Germany… “Hess, has there been any word from our patriots in Geneva?” “All is proceeding just as De Furhrer prophesied, Heinrich, don’t worry.” Heinrich Himmler stares up at a painting of the Fuhrer. “The world must never learn the truth about what we have done. Not until enough time has passed to demonstrate our genius.” Herbert Hess joins his fellow accomplice. “One day, history will celebrate us all as heroes.” Himmler reaches out and removes the painting from its place and tucks it under his arm. “Her Crowley’s scheme to resurrect him worries me.” Hess takes a cigarette from a silver case on the deceased Fuhrer’s desk. “Hitler was a brave man, he believed in Crowley’s plan for the future.” Himmler heads for the door in order to leave but stops and faces Hess. “The Fuhrer will live again.”  
After a long hike through the forest Jim is pressed into the back seat of a black Chevy Suburban and flanked on either side by one of his captors. In seconds the fleet of trucks is out onto the main highway that runs through the edge of town. Jim is unable to see due to the hood that one of the men placed over his head but his ears are able to pick up two voices talking up front. He strains but is unable to make out their words. His mind begins playing tricks on him; paranoia sets in and tortures the boys mind. “Where are they taking me and why?” he thinks to himself. “Is this all about the book?” “How did I ever get pulled into all this?” “Why did Mr. Payne ask for me in the first place?” Scenarios and questions swarmed inside his brain. Back at the camp site Brett lay face down in the grass while Craig lay on his side watching their babysitter who was resting on the cooler, still half full of beer. He struggled to talk but the gag in his mouth prevented any discernable words. After a minute of noise the man with the gun went to the stumpy boy and loosened the kerchief stuffed into his mouth. “Uh, thanks, that thing tastes terrible!” The man stands over the boy obviously annoyed. “Make it quick, what’s so important?” Making a calculated decision that later seemed out of character for him, Craig tells the man that he’s dying of thirst and asks for one of the beers.” The man looks over at the small igloo cooler and walks over and lifts the lid. Without a word he reaches in and takes a beer out. He looks over at Craig and Brett then walks over to Craig. He kneels down and places the kerchief back into his mouth and then cracks the beer open and drinks it in front of him. Brett fights to get loose in a rage that the guy is torturing his friend. Craig on the other hand knew better. He had played the man. He knew the guy would drink it himself and he was hoping that he’d drink them all and maybe get sleepy. Of course, only Craig would assume that six beers would be enough to knock the man out, since it only took three to drop him. Brett on the other hand could put six down without taking a leak. But Brett was able to wriggle his left hand free and pretended to be disabled while the man finished off the last can. When the man stood up and left his rifle propped up against an unassuming backpack sitting on the ground next to the small cooler while he went to the edge of the site and took a pee, Brett quickly jumped up and grabbed for the gun. The man was caught off guard and fell over trying desperately to pull his zipper up and landed on the ground next to Craig, who kicked him!

Like his gaming avatar in his Nintendo Contra game, Brett leveled the rifle at the man lying helpless. “Don’t move dude! I hunt with my dad and I know how to pull a trigger!”  
The man had no way of knowing the true nature of Brett’s mind but recognized the unhinged look in the boy’s eyes and knew that he was deadly serious. At Brett’s insistence, the man untied Craig who then tied the man with his own nylon rope. He also made sure to gag him with the same kerchief he had been gagged with, out of spite. “There you piece of crap!” He gave him one last kick in the side for fun. “C’mon, we gotta find out where they took Jim.” Craig grabbed the last unopened beer and Jim’s bag and followed Brett back out of the woods. When they reached the car they found all four tires flat. “Damn! They slashed my tires man!” Craig looked around and walked out to the side of the road and looked in both directions. “Guess we should wait for someone to pass by and flag em down for a ride.” Brett set the rifle in the back of his car and locked the doors. “I doubt anybody’s gonna pick up two strangers in the woods carrying a gun.” He took a seat on a log lying next to his car to wait while his friend stands guard for any passersby. 

Chapter Nine: The boy from Brazil

The smell of new leather filled Jim’s nose to the point of being obnoxious and the hood over his head held in his body heat so much that his hair was soaked in sweat by the time he felt the vehicle he was being transported in finally stopped. His left arm was yanked by the man sitting next to him and guided out of the truck. He stumbled a bit, trying to keep his balance since he couldn’t see where he was going. He had no idea where he was or what was around him but he could tell he was walking on grass from the cushiony feel under his shoes. The ground was slightly uneven and turned to what seemed like gravel for several feet and then the front of his shoe struck something that made a hollow thud. It was a set of steps; he realized and climbed up carefully with the aid of his captor. The sound of the stairs was somehow familiar to his ear but he wasn’t quite sure why. Then in three level foot steps forward he was halted again and he suddenly figured out where he was. The hood was removed from his head and he was standing in the very entrance way where he had stood several times before. It was Harry’s estate. Men stood on both sides of him and another behind to prevent him from running but he had no inclination or intention to run right now. What he wanted more than anything right now was answers and he figured that this was the place to finally get them. 

“Mr. Dero, welcome back, I was beginning to think you had run away!” The men all laughed at Harry’s attempt at humor but Jim wasn’t amused. “What’s this all about Harry? Why have you dragged me back here and who are all these guys?” “I apologize Jim, this wasn’t how I wanted all of this to go.” “Originally you were supposed to be brought to me without all this drama but our ‘brother’ fouled things up by stealing the ‘All Sight’ from our vault and disappeared without a trace.” Jim was listening intently but was still at a loss to understand exactly what it all meant. “I can see the confusion in your face, come with me and I’ll explain more fully.” Harry led the way down the long hall that Jim knew lead to the gigantic observatory room in the back of the large home. After following the man, he found that he was precisely where he thought he was being taken. The familiar chalk board stood anchored to the walls with the timeline still drawn across it from the day Harry had first introduced he and Craig to his account of history. “I told you about the rise and fall of civilization previously while you were here.” “Now it’s time to tell you the story of a very powerful and influential man.” Jim rolled his eyes and breathed in deep before exhaling the same way. “I’m tired of stories; I want to know who’s behind all this crap!” Harry Crespin patiently stands in front of the irritated boy and waits for him to calm down before continuing. “As I was saying… the man was born in 1875 and died in 1947. After a lifetime of searching and experimenting he sought to fulfill his most ambitious plan of changing the world.” “His fascination of the esoteric world became his obsession and he found the truth, his truth.” Jim was curious at this time and decided to entertain Harry’s mindset. “What was the man’s name?” Harry turned and looked the boy squarely in the eye. “Crowley, Aleister Crowley.” Jim’s mind snapped back in surprise! “You mean the dude from that Ozzy song?” Harry was less than amused and spoke curtly. “Yes that dude.” Jim began to laugh. “You’ve gotta be kidding!” Harry didn’t smile. “No, I’m very serious.” “He was not just a funny old man who celebrities like Jimmy Page and the Rolling Stones were fascinated with, he was a visionary who organized the greatest coupe ever dreamt of.” Jim was sadly disappointed; imagining a grand scheme only to find out it was all nonsense. “I’m not buyin it; this can’t be about some wizard and a silly book of spells.” Harry was now frustrated by the boy’s lack of interest or respect. “Not a book of spells you simpleton! It’s a book that catalogues the pathway through our history and the final realization of over a hundred years of planning!” “The book was coded to preserve the true history of our struggle and triumph. It was written by Crowley and added to by Hitler himself to include the secret that would provide the Fuhrer immortality!” Jim’s ears perked up at the mention of Adolph Hitler’s name! He recalled to mind the Nazi paraphernalia in Craig’s basement and the documents and passports. He jumped to his feet! “You, you’re a Nazi, or where a Nazi or whatever!” His words jaggedly shot forth. Harry was caught off guard at the boy’s knowledge. “Ah, I guess you found the stash of personal belongings that I left hidden below my store. Good for you, your detective skills are impressive.” “Even without knowing it, you’ve shown a remarkable degree of intelligence and adapted most admirably these last two weeks.” Jim was even more confused than before. “Thanks but what do you mean?” Harry set his piece of chalk down and took a seat near Jim and lit a cigarette. He exhaled a plume of unusually thick putrid smelling smoke. He held the cigarette between his thumb and index finger and looked at it admiringly. “It’s a special blend of tobacco and opium; I have them sent from Belgium, remember.” He took a few more slow drags from the ciggy and held it in for a few moments before expelling it at last. “It’s only partly about the book and notebook you know, the last and most important piece of the puzzle is right under your nose.” “Have you ever heard the saying that… “the devils in the details?” Jim’s head began to buzz and his eyes blurred as the familiar smell of Harry’s smoke filled his nostrils and clouded his mind just a second before he blacked out.

Harry waited patiently for Jim to regain consciousness and when Jim had finally come to he saw both Brett and Craig, hands tied behind them. Harry went to the chalk board in front of him and drew a circle in chalk, then turned to Jim. “Familiar with the circle theory?” Jim squinted slightly. “You mean how we all travel in certain circles and our circle intersects with others?” Harry finally smiled. “Precisely!” He continued on. “You see”… Jim ignored the man talking and glanced at his friends who seemed dazed or maybe drugged by the look in their eyes and stood motionless across the room. ..Harry continued unaware at first and then angrily he stopped and slammed his fist on the chalk board! Wham! This caught Jim’s attention back to his host as Harry motioned to the men guarding the door to remove the distractions. “So… each of us comes across or crosses paths with the lives of others in some way during our lifetime. The more family and friends you have the more lives you touch.” “Consequently, the more you travel out into the world the more opportunities you have to meet and engage other people as well.” “It may not surprise you to know that powerful and influential people usually run in the same circles.” Jim said nothing but showed acknowledgement in his face. “Weather its captains of industry and politicians or rock stars and inventors; somehow, sooner or later they converge at opportune times that send ripples of change into the world at large.” “Meanwhile the average man remains ignorant and unaware.” Jim stood and walked closer to his instructor. “So tell me what all this.. (he points to the writing on the wall) has to do with the book, notebook and Hitler?” Harry looked at Jim with playful condescension. “Come and join us.” He raised his right arm in the direction of a doorway he hadn’t seen before. At first the boy was reluctant but figured that there wasn’t any use in denying his curiosity so he went ahead. He passed the entryway and took a set of stairs up to to a large wooden door. Harry distinctly and slowly knocked six times in succession and the sound of a deadbolt sliding could be heard just before the door swung open. Beads of sweat began forming on the boys forehead and his face flushed as he staggered into a large room full of candles and people all dressed in black suits and one woman in an ebony dress. The room was surrounded by thick red curtains and he noticed the woman wore tiny lace gloves on her hands and a black hat complete with red lace veil. A man held the door for Harry and Jim to enter and they were met by another man who offered them both something to drink. Harry took the crystal goblet from the silver tray next to him while Jim held back. “Go on dear, it’s not poisoned!” The woman said, her face hidden behind the lace. There was something strangely familiar about the lady’s voice that Jim couldn’t place at first having his mind swirling in disbelief and his attentions swiftly directed elsewhere before he could make the connection. A tall man wearing a plain white featureless mask with nothing but eye slits came forward and offered the boy a chair. His mind flashed somewhere between fear and curiosity. He took the seat but kept the glass of liquid away from his face and let the hand holding it rest on his knee while he listened. “He looks frightened Harry, don’t you think it’s time we showed him the truth?” The man in the white mask asked. Harry weighed his options a second before announcing his decision. Harry smiled and asked Jim to look out through the window. A man wearing white gloves in contrast to his dark suit pulled back one of the curtains closest to were Jim sat. Jim looked around again and then stood and walked to the large window. Peering through the glass his stomach turned and made him feel sick as his knees buckled a little. Careful not to get too close to the glass he looked down onto the city of Pittsburgh, specifically the area known as Oakland. His fear of heights prevented him from moving either forward or back, his feet remained frozen to the floor as he realized that he was looking down on 5th avenue and the Sailors and Soldiers event center from high atop of the building lovingly referred to as the Cathedral of Learning. 

Harry joined Jim peering out over the city from the extremely tall, thin glass panels. “This level of the Cathedral was specially designed and crafted by the building’s architect Charles Klauder and our 10th Chancellor John Gabber Bowman with money donated by the Mellon family, all of which were lifelong members of our clandestine Order.” “It is called the Altar, and it sits atop the cathedral and faces Cairo.” Harry placed a firm hand on Jim’s shoulder and gently led him away from his fear and directed him to a small alcove in the granite wall where steel fire stands flanked something gleaming and metalic on the ledge. As the two men approached the alcove Jim realized the object was an urn. Harry gazed reverently at the ebony obelisk. “These are the mortal remains of our Master, he died and in keeping with his Will, he was ceremonially cremated and his ashes rest here within the line of sight of his old nemesis and spiritual requiter, C.T. Russell. Crowley originally planned to be buried next to Hitler and Pope Pious in the catacombs beneath the Vatican. Once Hitler was gone and the plans foiled he wanted to be interred on the opposite side of the city to demonstrate the eternal divide between he and Charles. Russell was buried adjacent to a large granite pyramid with his manuscripts in Rosemont, Mt. hope & evergreen United Cemetery in Ross Twp. Now called the North Side. 

Jim’s mind swirled with information he’d collected over the past week and mixing with the events of the previous hours, then he began to speak. “So you follow the writings of Thelema and the Order of the Golden Dawn?” “So what’s your interest in the writings of a man whose teachings were diametrically opposed to yours in every way?” Harry considered his words carefully before gesturing to a pair of empty chairs next to a small table. Both men walked to the table and sat across from one another. Harry produced the notebook as well as the black book Jim had been given and laid them on the table side by side. He placed his left hand on a weathered old pile of aging papers, “This is the original “Book of the Law”, containing the knowledge of the secret elders. Then he placed his right hand on the black book originally given to Jim, “This is the other half of the same knowledge.” Then Harry slid the red notebook in between the two. “And this is the key to deciphering them both.” Jim sat in silence looking at each of the volumes and then turned to meet Harry’s eyes. “You can’t understand them, can you?” Harry looked around at the others but said nothing. “I finally get it… you have all of this but you can’t figure it out?!” Harry finally relented, “The secret elders see everything from one point of view, Russell and his brethren saw everything from a different perspective. Unfortunately the elders are in a state of ‘tartarus’ and are unable to understand clearly. It requires the combination of both writings to point to the correct time and date when it all will end. It also requires someone from outside both orders to see it all clearly which is why you were brought her to this country.” Jim slid back from the table and looked around the room. “What are you talking about, I was born here!” Harry smiled knowingly, “no actually you were born Helmut Cregart in the town of Herzog in the country of Brazil.” Harry let everything sink in a second. Jim laughed and watched the others in the room with amusement. “Yeah and Hitler was my grandfather! Ha ha ha.” But he noticed no one else was laughing and he became very serious. “And you think I am the one who can answer the riddle?” Harry leaned forward, peering deep into Jim’s eyes now, “You are not one of us, you’re vision is not clouded by the one…” Jim had heard enough and stood, knocking the chair over! “Ok you want me to decipher the mystery for you? Well, here it is so pay attention!” 

All eyes were on Jim as he positioned himself in front of the entrance. “First I want both of my friends released, when I see them exit the building, safely out on the street below I’ll tell you what you desperately want to know.” Jim knew that these people were desperate and had no leverage. Harry made a phone call in a soft voice and sat the phone back onto the receiver and then pointed to the window again. Queasy and nauseous Jim peered down onto the street so far below that it caused him to swallow hard. From so far up he could see Brett and Craig exit the building and cross the street and then stop and look up. 

Finally sure of his friend’s safety, Jim turned back to face Harry and his acolytes. “First… your all nuts!” It was at that moment the woman in black and the tall man standing next to her removed their face coverings! Jim froze in disbelief as his heart sank and his mother’s eyes met his. “It’s true!?” “This is real, nothing in my life has been real. It’s all been fake from the beginning?” His mind could barely keep itself together. Jim’s sanity was fragile at best. He sat defeated and thought back to all the memories he knew growing up and one by one they dissolved and faded away. Finally after a few minutes to get his bearings, he began speaking in a low mumble that grew stronger and louder as his mind grasped the truth of his situation and reality. “Your secret elders or 9 dukes as they’re also known, are liars!” Harry and his fellow believers gasped. Jim continued, “Just like their father!” Now some within the order became incensed at the man’s gall! Two of the taller men lunge forward in unrighteous indignation but were held back by a hand gesture from the woman in black. She calls them to heal like trained canines and they step back among their kind. Jim stands his ground and begins again. “The fundamental problem is not what you imagine it to be at all.” He says with a slight grin. “The problem you have here is that you think of these two men and their manuscripts as halves that represent a common whole. The notebook is not a tool to bridge the gap either.” “Harry you drew a line on the chalkboard at your home and explained the historical significance and truth which brought mankind into the 20th century but your lecture was missing a very important piece to the grand puzzle.” “You are aware, as are the 9 dukes and their horde that the End Times is approaching.” Russell and his brethren knew the same. But the difference is… they knew the one thing you and yours are blind to.” “Your god is known as the ‘lord of the flies’ he is the ‘god of the dead’ the finite. Russell’s god is the ‘God of the living’.” Harry’s body shivered with anger. Jim went on “You’re all looking for the secret to immortality but you’ve been looking in the wrong place. You’ve also been seeking answers but you ‘ve been asking the wrong questions.” Harry and his disciples rushed toward Jim seething with hate but Jim stopped them dead where they stood! “Stop!” Jim yelled as he raised the sacred urn high above his head. “I’ll destroy it!” Jim may have been bluffing but none of the order could risk it and retreated. Jim, feeling safe again returned to his explanation. “You think there is some loophole or backdoor to eternity.” “Just figure out where and when to be at the very last instant before the END and you pass safely beyond this realm.” Jim walked with the urn under his left arm and the three volumes in his right hand until he reached the large plate glass. He looked first at him mother and then his father, neither of which offered any solace. “I’m very sorry to disappoint you all but this scheme won’t work for one simple reason. That was the exact moment when Jim kicked over the fire-stand closest to him, sending it into the large, thick, red draperies, setting them aflame instantly! His voice cut through the growing chaos! “You can’t play chess with God!… because he invented the game!” At the very second Jim spoke those words, he thrust the urn and the three volumes into the glass causing a deafening crashing sound and sending shards of shimmering glass raining down on Jim as he turned his body around and fell backwards through the window frame. As if in slow motion his body fell and fell, until he lay twisted and lifeless on the pristine lawn at the foot of the great building which was engulfed with flames and in peril.

Nov 26 1921 Charles Klauder 2.5million from Mellon family to architect Cathedral of Learning Building coordinates 40degr 26’ 39’ North 79degr 57’ 11’ West

November 17 1999 Cathedral of Learning undergoes extensive private remodel to the top three floors.


End file.
